


Mysterious Woman From the Train

by LeeMorrigan



Category: Murder on the Orient Express (2017)
Genre: 1930s, And Chef Schmidt, And Irish famine, Boston society, Class Dynamics, Does not depict the murder of Daisy, Does not show any actual deaths, F/M, Funerals, Gaelic phrases, Gives Biniamino more of a story, Gives some backstory for Biniamino, Grief, Learning to Drive, Mentions Irish immigration, Mourning, Mr.Marquez, Revenge and Justice, Romance, Starts before Daisy was born, Takes place before during after the train murder, and Masterman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23078311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeMorrigan/pseuds/LeeMorrigan
Summary: Biniamino Marquez was accustomed to people making incorrect assumptions about him, including assuming the boy in the photos was his son and not his nephew Carlos, or that he was still a criminal not to be trusted. He had left all of that behind before he came to work for Col.Armstrong in Boston. A job that brought him a new home, allowed him to help his sister and her kids, aided his getting his business, and had introduced him to Margaret Byrnes, an Irishwoman seeking a new home away from the strife and famine back home. Over the course of four years, they grow closer as they watch little Daisy growing up and when tragedy strikes, both are invited to a fateful train ride on the Orient Express, to bring justice to the man who got away with four murders.
Relationships: Biniamino Marquez/Original Female Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Land of Opportunity (and culture clash)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings: Does mention some issues with pregnancy/childbirth but in no real detail, deals with class/economic issues of the 1920s/1930s, discusses the War, mentions Daisy's murder and the subsequent deaths of the Armstrong family, deals with grief and guilt, addresses racism/sexism of the age.
> 
> Mostly will focus on Biniamino Marquez and my OFC- Margaret Byrne. I admit, this may not be the most historically accurate piece on AO3 as this is outside of my area of study (mine cuts off about 30years prior to this), so I relied heavily on the movie and quick searches on the internet for info about places/tech/etc., and I apologize straight away for historical inaccuracies. I based some of the stuff with Margaret off family legend about one of my own ancestors when she left Ireland during the famine to the land of opportunity/America in the 1920s.
> 
> Please enjoy! Thank you for reading!

**Boston – 1929**

Margaret Byrne stepped down from the platform at the train station to get her first real look at the city of Boston. It was not entirely what she had expected. From her limited time outside of Ireland, she had developed a certain idea of cities beyond her beautiful homeland. _Dirty, smelly, and over-crowded_. Cities had offered her nothing worthwhile in the past. London, in particular, had been entirely too populated given the acreage and filled with a number of people who either broke her heart at their unspeakable state or were so vile that she would not have wished their presence on her worst enemy.

New York, a few days ago, had been better. Not by much, however. The streets were not so narrow as in London and yet there had been more noise. She had much preferred the New York hotel she stayed in until she could take the train to Boston, over the hotel in London that she had waited at until she could catch the boat to America. The American hotel had been more modern with conveniences such as private baths and telephones. Oddly, in such a modern place, she seemed to receive more stares than she ever had in London. Over her attire, her height, or being a female traveling solo, she was unsure, though it seemed to her that any one would be worthy enough of note to the Americans.

Margaret moved to the area labeled for awaiting luggage, and stood by the sign. Almost everything she had ever owned, was housed in her luggage. Her clothes, her photos of home and of her work, a few letters from her family, her jewelry, books, and some tools of her trade. Her grandfather had sent her off to start a new life in America. One of prosperity and freedom unlike what a woman could expect of late in Ireland. Between the famine and the latest plague-like disease sweeping the nation, Ireland was dirt-poor and in shambles. Adding to that the number of men they had lost in the Great War, and there were so many women with no prospects in marriage and now, no prospects for work, education, or even food for their tables.

In America, there were jobs, plenty of food, and friends her grandfather could count on to see to his grandchildren’s welfare. Her two elder cousins, Robert and Patrick, were already stationed at positions in banks. Robert was working in a new branch of a London-based bank, making him rather important in Washington D.C., while Patrick was clerking at a bank in New York and had managed to meet Margaret for dinner before her train to Boston. It seemed America had agreed with them and she was determined it would agree with her. She would not return home a failure.

Soon, a young man in a uniform came up to her with a ticket in one hand, her luggage trailing behind him. He looked about before spotting her and doing the usual startled-second-look. Truly, in 1929 the world should have been more prepared for the modern woman. She was modest in her suit, despite it having pants, and she had styled her hair so that it pinned up nicely under her cap. She wore no garish jewelry or makeup, her shoes were sturdy but well cared for, and her nails were a bit short for a lady however she wore gloves to avoid the comments about her calloused hands.

“Are you Ms.Byrne from New York to Boston?”

“Aye. I see you have my luggage.”

“Yes, Miss. Do you have a cab, or would you like me to call someone for you?”

“I am being picked up by my employer’s driver. He was instructed to wait for me if he arrived before the train.”

The bellman nodded, his polite smile returning.

“Yes, Miss. Please follow me?”

She did as requested, tugging her jacket over her suit. New York had been a bit chilly in the Spring morning when she left. Boston was colder still. And more damp. She relished it, feeling more at home in weather that reminded her of Grandfather’s estate. All that was missing were some horses grazing and the sound of her grandfather singing to himself as he fished in the nearby lake.

The young bellman lead her out to an area where several cars appeared to be awaiting passengers. Most looked identical. Black, clean as a wedding cart, and polished beyond reckoning. Most had a man in a black suit standing near them, wearing the cap of a driver. Some had newspapers or pipes, others merely stood and watched for their passengers.

One man, the tallest of the men she could see, looked up to see her and the bellman. Once he noticed them among those departing the train station, he snapped to and made for the walkway where they stood. His smile was quite pleasant, Margaret noted. He seemed to take her appearance in stride and without the usual second-look people gave her.

“Miss Margaret Byrne, of Ireland?”

“Yes, sir. Are you Col.Armstrong’s driver?”

“Indeed I am, Ms.Byrne. Biniamino Marquez, at your service.”, he greeted as he removed his cap and gave a tip of his head.

Margaret smiled, trying to hold back a small chuckle at the almost-courtly greeting. Straightening, he reached for her luggage from the bellman. Margaret turned, offering the young man a tip for his assistance. He took it with a thank you, before heading back into the station. Mr.Marquez took her luggage over to the car, nodding politely at other drivers as he passed.

“Have you met the Colonel before, Ms.Byrne?”

“No, I have not. Should I expect a severe military man, or is he amiable?”

Mr.Marquez stopped by his car, leaving her luggage in favor of getting the back door for her. He was already a much better chauffeur than old Mr.Carney back home.

“He is quite agreeable, Miss. I would go so far as to call him a good man. He holds himself to high standards and he expects no less from those about him. He is not severe, I would think, and is an understanding boss. He and Mrs.Armstrong have only been married a little over a year now, and she has had some influence on him. Marriage has made him less quiet, and more personable.”

Margaret grinned as she moved into the back seat.

“A good marriage often has that effect on a military man.”

Mr.Marquez just smiled, then closed the door and returned his attention to her luggage, placing it in the boot for the journey. A couple minutes later, they were heading towards what would be her temporary home. Margaret hoped she would like it and those who lived there.

“I have heard you will work for Col.Armstrong for a while, though no one has specified the position.”

“I believe the idea is for me to accompany his wife as kind of a secretary or assistant. She does not know many people here in Boston and has been described to my grandfather as a bit of a quiet, shy woman, but kind.”

Mr.Marquez nodded, looking back in the mirror at times while he spoke.

“She is quite kind, Ms.Byrne. I have not once heard her raise her voice to a staff member or the Colonel. She does sometimes cry at seemingly small things, which has led tongues to wagging.”

“Really? Why would anyone question a woman crying?”

“Some think the Colonel is not the husband such a delicate lady ought to have tied herself to, others believe she is too delicate for marriage and society. Some whisper of less delicate matters, questioning her health or that of the Colonel’s.”

“I see. Is there anything, in particular, that makes her cry that I ought to avoid? Some topic or an activity?”

Mr.Marquez seemed to consider her question for a moment.

“Children. The discussion of children seems to upset her. Last week, one of the neighbors, and older woman who is a great buzzard of a soul, she insinuated that the Colonel and Mrs.Armstrong had no children because of some lingering medical issues from the Colonel’s time in the War. Mrs.Armstrong went straight to crying and had to be removed from the room by one of the staff, while the Colonel had strong words for the neighbor.”

“I think I can avoid the topic, if it will upset her to speak of children. Perhaps I will try to ask her about Boston’s sights and the things to do in the city.”

“I believe she would enjoy that, Ms.Byrne. She does lack for company at the house with the Colonel away on business on a good deal of the week and so many of the staff, well… we are not so well educated or well-read to be able to entertain her the way a lady more of her class, might do. The housekeeper, Mrs.Gordon, she tries. She came over with the Colonel when he came to America and has traveled half the world with the Armstrong family. Their cook, Ms.Schmidt, she does a fair sight better. She and Mrs.Armstrong enjoy setting up the menu for each week and they can spend the whole evening discussing options for any party the Colonel hosts.”

The two passed their time with Mr.Marquez filling her in on the staff, the house, Boston society, the Colonel’s work, Mrs.Armstrong’s love of music, and the delicious cooking of Ms.Schmidt. He asked a few questions about Ireland and what Margaret would do in Boston. It was a pleasant drive that was over far sooner than she had expected it would be.

When they arrived, Margaret was amazed at the home of the Armstrongs. A beautiful brick mansion with large arched windows on the front with stained glass encircling the clear center panels, spires on the peaked roof, a beautiful garden of white flowers leading up to the front door that had a spectacular transom and sidelights. It was a far sight more modern than anything she would have seen at home, though larger than even her grandfather’s manor house. Everything looked perfectly manicured and trimmed, not a thing out of place, and all as clean as a new mirror.

Mr.Marquez looked back at her with a wide smile. The young woman was clearly taken with the house just as they all were the first time they arrived. The Colonel was very specific about how the house looked, inside and out. Everything had a place and everything was kept in its place. It was beautiful. More, the Colonel treated all of them so well that no one felt they could do anything other than their best work for the Colonel and his bride.

Marquez pulled the car around to the side entrance, as Mrs.Gordon was cleaning the front door and foyer. She would not approve of his bringing Ms.Byrne and her luggage through just now. As he expected, Ms.Schmidt was waiting at the side entrance, a warm smile on her face. Marque got the door, allowing Ms.Byrne to exit. He found himself admiring the tall, oddly dressed Irish woman. Her skin was pale as porcelain and her hair was as black as his own, though her eyes were dark- the shade hidden by the brim of her hat and the thin netting that covered the top half of her face. She appeared to wear almost no makeup, while wearing a suit that almost appeared to be a tailored men’s suit rather than a lady’s suit.

As she walked up to meet Ms.Schmidt, Marquez caught himself admiring how well the Irish woman filled out her attire, the loose slacks doing nothing to hide how long her legs were and the jacket hiding nothing of her figure. Turning his back, he went to the trunk to gather her belongings. She was to stay in the bedroom down the hall from where Ms.Schmidt and Mrs.Gordon slept, placing her at the bottom of the back stairs that led up to the family rooms. He knew Ms.Schmidt was meant to take Ms.Byrne to look over her new room for a moment, before taking her to the front of the house into the Colonel’s study to meet with him and allow Marquez to get her luggage into the bedroom. He had been surprised how little luggage she had being that she was moving from one country to another, possibly for the rest of her life. He had done the same once, though his had been a requirement to survive and he had arrived with nothing but the ragged clothes on his aching back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Margaret walked with Mrs.Armstrong, holding the majority of their bags. They had gone shopping in preparation for a party that the Colonel was hosting at the house later in the week. Mrs.Armstrong had attested to needing a new dress and shoes to match, then needing to replace a few things at the house that were out of season. The house had not been ready for them last spring, she had explained, and as such the woman did not have all she needed to entertain at this time in the year. She claimed everything was fit for Christmas or even Thanksgiving, yet nothing for Easter or any summer holidays.

Despite having been raised in a household almost entirely made up of males, Margaret had enough female friends in recent years, to recognize a few signs that Mrs.Armstrong might have had more reason for picking up a new dress, than simply to be in-season. Especially as the woman had been avoiding strong odors and had spent so long that morning in the lavatory before coming down to a breakfast that she barely touched.

“Now, Ms.Byrne, you must tell me- what do you think of Boston so far? Is it not simply vibrant?”

“It is more lively than anything back home.”

The blonde woman giggled almost like a schoolgirl, in her excitement. She had been giddy and nervous all day. Margaret was not particularly patient as a rule, and found the behavior of her employer to be somewhat hard to bear without commenting.

“We will have to stop for something to eat. There is a small ice cream parlor near here, we shall have to stop. I wish to show it off a bit to you, Ms.Byrne.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, please? The Colonel worries so about making sure I eat. He thinks I do not eat half so much as I ought to in order to stay healthy. He says I eat as if I were a bird. What a silly thing to say, don’t you think?”

“Well, if I am honest, Ms.Armstrong, you could do with a few hardier meals in the week. I’ve known cats who ate more in one sitting than you eat in a day.”

The woman seemed shocked at Margaret’s response. She glanced up to see Mr.Marquez looking stuck between amusement and shock. Her overstepping had not been missed.

“I’m sorry.”, she tried to apologize.

Mrs.Armstrong reached over, giving Margaret’s hand a small squeeze.

“Please, don’t fret over it? Everyone treats me as though I were made of glass. I’m stronger than they think, Ms.Byrne, and I appreciate the honesty for what it was. One woman looking after another. Thank you. And please, do not feel as if you must sugar coat your words when it is just us. Mr.Marquez will not tell the Colonel of the chitter chatter between ladies, will you, Mr.Marquez?”

He smiled.

“No, ma’am.”

Mrs.Armstrong turned back to Margaret, beaming.

“See? Now, we should be there any moment.”

No sooner had she said it than Mr.Marquez pulled up to the ice cream parlor. It was lovely, with more color than most of the places they had been so far in the day. Mrs.Armstrong dove straight in, leaving Margaret to follow her after exchanging an amused look with Mr.Marquez.

A few minutes later, the two women sat at a table in the corner where they could see out the windows to admire the sunny day and the flower pots coming in all over the streets. Mrs.Armstrong had gotten a larger ice cream with fruit and chocolate bits while Margaret had gotten a smaller dish with fresh peaches over vanilla ice cream. She had recently discovered peaches and thought them divine.

“Ms.Byrne, may I confess something to you?”

“If you would like to, yes.”

“It is something I am bursting to tell, and yet the Colonel will not be home till tomorrow, and I simply cannot refrain until then, from sharing what I have to say.”

“I will keep your secret, Ma’am.”

“Firstly, please call me Sarah? All this ma’am stuff makes me feel as though I were a hundred years old!”

Margaret smiled, despite feeling a bit lost with the woman in front of her. They were so different. Ms.Armstrong was dainty, girlish, and sweet as fresh pie, ready to be the perfect wife and little lady of the manor, doting on her husband and in awe of him. Doing her best to make sure his home was his castle and that he knew he was the lord of it all. Margaret had been raised to be her grandfather’s right-hand-man, barely knowing how to be feminine at all aside from the basics of attire and manners. Her hands were work-roughened, her build broad, her voice deepened, and her posture very confident and manly.

“Alright, Sarah, though you should call me Margaret if I am to call you Sarah.”

The woman brightened even further, her smile threatening to truly split her face in half.

“Oh, wonderful! Margaret, I must tell someone before I burst into pieces.”

She leaned, her tone conspiratory and quiet.

“The doctor has confirmed it for me, just yesterday. I am to expect a baby in the coming months. Oh, isn’t that wonderful? Charlie and I can finally have a little one bounding about the house, full of laughter and singing! I can’t wait to have a little version of Charlie pretending to fly just like his daddy. The Colonel is quite the aviator, you know?”

“You do seem rather excited. I can see why you’ve been having trouble keeping such news to yourself.”

“I’m delighted, no. I am… I don’t have a word for it, I’m so happy. I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can recall. I always wanted one little boy and one little girl, that way I can have a little girl to dress and spoil, and my husband could have a little boy to teach how to be a good man, as I always knew I would marry a good man. I couldn’t marry some horrible creep or a cruel man, no I couldn’t have.”

Margaret smiled before taking another bite of her treat. The woman before her truly loved her husband and appeared to already love the child she carried. Despite Margaret’s general ill-ease around children, she wished Sarah all the best and would add the wellbeing of Sarah’s babe to her nightly prayers. This was clearly a child whose birth would be greeted with love and warmth.

“Oh, Margaret, I hope you marry soon so we can push our prams around together in the parks and plan birthday parties together! I have no friends my age to do such things with. Most the Colonel introduces me to, are almost old enough to be my own mother with children barely younger than me. Some have children older than the Colonel.”

“They might have some good advice for you in the coming months, or years, I might think. They have already had babies and raised them to adulthood.”

Mrs.Armstrong nodded.

“True. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“My grandfather always says that people don’t reach his age without gaining some wisdom of some sort, or else they would have died far younger than he is.”

Mrs.Armstrong chuckled, her thin hand over her mouth.

“Oh, he sounds delightful.”

Margaret shrugged, earning an odd look from her employer.

“He has his moments.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The weeks went by quickly after Mrs.Armstrong’s announcement. The whole staff knew, after the Colonel had been informed, and were all instructed to take extra good care of the lady of the house. The pair had decided to wait a while, in light of the risks early in a pregnancy, before telling anyone beyond their own family and the staff. Mrs.Armstrong took to wearing looser styles or layers to hide the burgeoning sign of her impending motherhood and the Colonel had cautioned his wife to put off shopping for baby-things until such time that the doctor was confident they could inform their friends of the news.

Margaret had been helping Mrs.Armstrong quietly acquire new clothes and underthings to help hide the evidence from neighbors and friends, and had even helped Mrs.Armstrong duck guests when she was not feeling up to receiving company to the house. Today, however, was the first day that the Colonel had agreed Mrs.Armstrong could begin purchasing things for the baby as she was now far enough along to have the physician’s confidence. Margaret thought they were all far too protective of the woman and were babying her needlessly. Women had been birthing babies for centuries without all this fuss.

“What did you think of those cribs, Margaret?”

“They seemed sturdy.”

“Ah yes, well I mean do they look pretty? The Colonel’s mother believes I’m to have a girl and… I don’t want to bring her to an ugly crib.”

“Being that you aren’t aware what the baby will be, m advice would be to buy a simple crib and to prepare both pink and blue things to adorn it, so you are prepared either way. My crib at home had been passed down in the family and was white. My ma made everything for it in shades of yellow and cream, as she thought they were soothing colors. My grandfather made a little mobile to hang above, with hand-carved horses and stars.”

“That is inspired! I shall have to talk to the Colonel about if there is anything from his family. I know my mother did not keep Helena or I’s things, aside from maybe a dress or a toy. She was not so sentimental and we traveled a lot, with her profession.”

“His mother might well have some things she would like to see her grandchild make use of. A christening gown or a cradle.”

“Oh, I would adore it if she did. I will not buy a cradle or crib today then, and I will write to her to ask if she has such and if so, would she like me to use them for the baby.”

They paused at the curb of another store, with Margaret getting out first, with Mr.Marquez holding the door for her. Just as Mrs.Armstrong exited, her friend, Mrs.Palver, stepped out of the dress shop. Mrs.Palver was about five years older than Mrs.Armstrong and widowed with two sons of school age.

“Sarah! Well Sarah, you look well! I have heard your news!”

The two women hugged politely.

“Please, allow me to take you home to lunch with me? We are having a wonderful fish dish that I think you would love. I promise, I will have Nickols drive you home straight away after, or early if you become over-tired.”

“I would like that very much, Eloise. Thank you. But I do have a couple more things I was to pick up before heading home.”

Margaret could tell Mrs.Armstrong really had wished to accept the invitation. Stepping up, she made an offer.

“I could finish your errands. I would be no trouble, and then you could accept Mrs.Palver’s lunch invitation.”

Mrs.Palver smiled, a bit more relaxed around staff than the older women the Colonel brought around to the house for his various parties and dinners.

“You wouldn’t mind?”, Mrs.Armstrong asked.

“I wouldn’t at all. We just needed to get the Colonel’s dry cleaning and those books you ordered. I can let Ms.Schmidt know you won’t be home for lunch.”

“Oh that would be wonderful, thank you! You are a dear, Margaret.”

Margaret just smiled as Mrs.Armstrong heaped on the compliments, before she went with her friend. However, just as they reached the door of Mrs.Palver’s car, Mrs.Armstrong turned back to Margaret and Mr.Marquez.

“Oh, Margaret- don’t forget, it all goes on the Colonel’s account. If anyone gives you any trouble about it, have Mr.Marquez come in and have a word with the shopkeepers. He’ll remind them that all the staff and guests of the Colonel have privileges. Mr.Marquez, please take good care of Margaret and don’t allow anyone to give her any guff?”

“Yes, Mrs.Armstrong.”

She beamed at them before walking off with Mrs.Palver. Once the two ladies had driven off, Margaret looked up at Mr.Marquez. She had never been able to stop noticing how well put together he was. Not just his suit or his perfectly trimmed mustache. When the Almighty was molding Mr.Marquez, He had taken his good time fashioning the man.

“Mr.Marquez, I have a couple dresses to pick up here and then we’ll need to go to the book shop and the cleaner’s to pick up the suits.”

He nodded.

“Will you need any help with the bags?”

“I think I can manage. She only ordered two or three, to my knowledge.”

He nodded, stepping aside to wait for her. Sure enough, the lady of the house had ordered only three new dresses to fit her expanding form, and they were easy enough to manage as Margaret made her way out of the store. One of the shop keeper’s daughters came out with another box, containing a new slip and stockings. Mr.Marquez opened the boot and helped them get everything in around the items already packed inside the car. Margaret laid out the dresses overtop everything to help keep them straight. They had gotten the books and suits soon after, and once they were done, Margaret moved from where she had sat in the very back with Mrs.Armstrong, to sit directly behind Mr.Marquez. She enjoyed talking to him on the rare occasion they were alone in the car.

“How is your sister?”

He brightened up at the mention of his beloved sibling.

“Oh, she is well. Settling in nicely here, with her children. Marianna was a bit slow to warm to Boston. Elaina is so young, she barely knows any different, and Carlos is happy so long as he has his toy bear. I am glad of the Colonel’s suggestion that I buy the larger house, now that I am not alone.”

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten you looked at the little cottage house. It was a cute little thing.”

“Yes, but no room for Isabella or the little ones.”

“Do you think you’ll be invited to bring them over to play with the littlest Armstrong?”

He smiled over at her.

“She has already invited Ms.Schmidt’s niece and nephew to come and play when the baby is old enough for a playmate. It wouldn’t surprise me if Isabella were to receive a similar invitation. Especially if the child is a boy, then she might want Carlos to come over to allow her son to have a slightly older boy to play in the yard with.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, either, Mr.Marquez.”

“Mrs.Armstrong and the Colonel are not present, Margaret.”

She chuckled, having slipped.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget we are at our leisure, Biniamino.”

“It will get easier, I’m sure.”

“I have heard a rumour among the staff, that you are working towards your goal. A dealership here in Boston.”

“I am. It will be at least a year before I move on it. I have my eye on some properties where I could set up and I have been discussing it with the Colonel. He has offered to co-sign a loan agreement, once I’ve enough for the required down payments on the land and the cars.”

“Then I suppose I will soon have to break in another driver.”

Biniamino laughed.

“Not too soon, sinorita.”

They drove a couple more minutes before he spoke up again, this time in a more hesitant tone.

“I’ve also heard rumors. I’ve heard that you have a job prospect that has nothing to do with aiding Mrs.Armstrong on shopping trips or helping her decorate the nursery.”

“Yes. The Colonel has gotten in touch with a friend of his, who owns a nice horse operation up North a bit. He is looking for someone to take over when his current manager retires late next year. If I am selected, then he said I could move into the manager’s house once his current man has vacated as the man intends to return to England where his family still live.”

“Would you be staying with the Armstrongs until then?”, he asked, a bit afraid the answer would be negative.

“The Colonel has asked if I would, as he believes it would be good for Sarah to have me around a bit now and after the baby comes.”

He smiled to himself. Margaret had been a breath of fresh air for him. Not that he had a problem with Masterman, Ms.Schmidt, Mrs.Gordon, or the new nurse, Ms.Estravados. They were all good people, however Ms.Estravados was a bit fond of drink while otherwise being a good nurse, keeping to herself and being unobtrusive. Mrs.Gordon was the boss, under the Armstrongs. Masterman was worse than Ms.Schmidt or the nurse about being unobtrusive and making himself just a fixture in the house rather than a whole person. Margaret bristled at any attempt to be a fixture rather than a person, speaking her mind too often and too plainly, with a manner to her that was clearly belonging to a woman accustomed to being taken seriously.

She had told him, back in Ireland, she functioned very much as her grandfather’s manager and that she thought nothing of taking meetings alone with the men her grandfather dealt with. And she was still getting her sea legs when it came to Boston society and what was expected of a young woman of her station, compared to being in a position traditionally held by males who dealt as an equal to the men about her.

“Biniamino?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think that, perhaps once I’ve established myself, you will come visit me? I won’t know anyone up there and it would be nice to see a familiar face.”

He smiled, a warmth swelling in his chest. He wondered if she had any idea how much he truly enjoyed her company. Especially of late, when they spoke and dropped the formal titles.

“If I was invited, I would indeed.”

“Good.”, she smiled up so he could see in the mirror.

“What kind of horses will you train? Is there something special about them?”

“They are stock horses, big, broad creatures meant more to pull weight and carry heavy loads, than for racing out of the stocks. I find horse racing to be cruel and am glad to find a potential employer who appears to share that view.”

“Can you ride one?”

“Oh yes, people ride them every day.”

“No, I misspeak. I mean, can you yourself ride one? Do you know how?”

“My grandfather had a few a piece, of several kinds of horses. The stock horses and the so-called War Horses, were my favorites and I rode them often.”

“War horses?”

“They are also tall and broad like the stock horses, however they have been bred to be especially smart and loyal, and they generally have a different gait than the stock or race horses. They can almost appear to march as if in a parade. According to my grandfather, in the Medieval age, when knights wore full suits of heavy plated armor over their chain mail and woolen coats, they needed a horse big enough to carry such a weight, tall enough to keep most of the knight away from the foot soldiers, and smart enough to need very little direction once fully trained. War horses were bred for such a purpose. The only issue most have with them is that they are so spirited and independent. It takes more to get them to trust you, than it takes with a stock horse. My grandfather and his men could spend days getting a newly acquired war horse, to trust them enough for them to lead one by the reigns.”

“I can hear your love of them in your voice, now.”

She smiled, the apples of her cheeks warming to a deeper shade of pink than the heat had already brought out.

“They are beautiful. Perhaps, when you come to visit me, I will have to take you down to see the stock horses. They are similar enough in looks that you would get an idea what the war horses looked like.”

“I will hold you to that, Margaret.”

“Perhaps you can teach me to drive, then I could purchase my own car and drive down here to see you on occasion.”

“I would be honored.”

They rode most of the rest of the way quietly. It was a hubbub of activity once they arrived at the Armstrong home, informing Ms.Schmidt and Mr.Masterman of the change in lunch plans and that Mrs.Armstrong would be driven home later, then carrying out all the new items and Colonel Armstrong’s suits to deposit each item where it was mean to be. It was nearly dinnertime before they were finished and Biniamino was able to put the car away for the night. Margaret had swiped a mug of coffee and brought it down to the garage, where Biniamino was wiping some dust off the rear of the car.

“I thought you could use some coffee.”

His smile was wide as the skyline as bright as a new penny. Margaret swore it made a flutter dance in her stomach. Back home in Ireland, she had never once gone mad over a boy. Not even as a schoolgirl when surrounded by a good number of nicely fashioned young men. Here, in America, she had rarely found any cause to even stare a while. Except for Biniamino, who she often found hard to drag her eyes away from. It had only worsened as they became friends and she heard him speak of his plans for the future- his dealership and getting his sister to America with her children, and then hearing him speak of them with such warmth once they had arrived.

His larger, work-roughened hand reached, taking the white cup from her and offering her another smile as he did. His tie and cap were gone, leaving him to look a bit more relaxed. Margaret liked it. Too much, in fact.

“Mrs.Armstrong is excited about her lunch and some advice her friend gave her for the nursery. She and Ms.Estravados are upstairs, going over the newest plans.”

“Isabella was just as excited about the girls’ room and Carlos’s room when they moved in. I told her that I wanted them to have their own space so she gave the girls the bigger of the two bedrooms upstairs, and Carlos is taking the other. I wanted her to have the master room, but she insisted I take it since it was my house.”

He blushed a bit, seeming to realize what he had just discussed.

“I’m sorry, that was crass.”

“Biniamino, please? I am a grown woman who has discussed breeding programs with men old enough to have fathered me. I would daresay I am unshockable at this point.”

“You may well be, however it is still not proper to discuss my sleeping arrangements with a young lady such as yourself.”

She arched a dark eyebrow at him, her deep sage eyes boring into him.

“Believe me, I’m hardly scandalized. Come on, Ms.Schmidt has dinner set out for us all by now.”

“I’ll be up in a minute. I want to check something on the car before I come in.”

She nodded, knowing what it truly was. While it was no secret the two were friendly, it was unseemly for two members of a family’s staff, to engage in any romantic relationship and Biniamino was attempting to create some space so it would not be clear as daylight that the two of them had been chatting alone on the property by the light of a bulb in the garage.

Margaret appreciated his gallantry, though she felt it was unwarranted. She was soon to be working elsewhere and Biniamino would have his own dealership in around a year or so. Then again Mr.Masterman and Mrs.Gordon seemed to be sticklers for convention and rules.

“Ms.Byrne?”

She stopped, barely refraining from mentioning the whole ‘speak of the Devil’ phrase that came to mind as Mrs.Gordon called out to her in the back hall. Turning, Margaret faced the older woman and longtime housekeeper.

“Yes?”

“That is “yes ma’am”, to be proper. And you didn’t wipe your feet at the door after you came in from the garden.”

“I wasn’t in the garden, Mrs.Gordon. I lost my ring and wanted to check the car.”

The older woman’s face softened slightly.

“The silver one with the rose?”

“Yes, ma’am. Mr.Marquez was finishing cleaning it, so it was simple enough to check the back where I had been sitting with Mrs.Armstrong. I found the ring!”, she displayed it to Mrs.Gordon.

“It is a pretty thing, and an heirloom of sorts. It is good that you did not lose it forever. Go on upstairs and get yourself cleaned up. Supper will be on in a couple minutes.”

“Thank you, Mrs.Gordon.”

“By the way, I’ll be checking your story with Mr.Marquez. I don’t have to remind you that fraternizing if not done, Ms.Byrne.”

“Why no, Mrs.Gordon, you don’t have to remind me. You’ve explained the rules and I’m sure I recall that one quite well.”

She left Mrs.Gordon with her mouth slightly agape as Margaret heading down to her room. Mrs.Gordon shook her head, muttering beneath her breath about the ways of foreigners, the Irish being especially uncouth. A moment later, Mr.Marquez came through the kitchen door, wiping his feet at the mat before removing his cap and smiling up Ms.Schmidt. The man was far too friendly and familiar for Mrs.Gordon’s liking.

“Mr.Marquez, a word if you please?”

“Of course.”

He walked over, his cap tucked under his left arm.

“Ms.Byrne was alone with you in the garage earlier, she said she had an errand.”

“I thought she was down there looking for something, Mrs.Gordon? A bracelet or ring, I think. She found it, whatever it was, and hurried back up here to clean up before supper.”

She nodded. Her own predecessor back in England, had taught her the art of sniffing out a lie. People would often lie or withhold information, yet they were eager to correct you if you made an incorrect statement. She had made hers and he corrected her with information to affirm Ms.Byrne’s story, assuring Mrs.Gordon that the willful Irishwoman had been truthful about her reason for going to the garage.

Mr.Marquez nodded with a smile, before heading down to clean up his hands as he had a bit of road dirt on him from getting in and out of the back with the packages. He smiled as Mrs.Gordon passed, barely containing a small laugh. She was terrible at sussing out information though she thought herself a great detective. Marquez and Margaret had been carving off moments for weeks, to speak alone. Away from Mrs.Gordon’s assumptions, Mr.Masterman’s scowling, or Mrs.Armstrong’s girlish squealing.

~*~*~*~*~*~

**Boston – 1930**

Little Daisy Armstrong had arrived in the world at the wee hours of the morning in the middle of a snow storm. Marquez had been dispatched to fetch the physician while the Colonel, Mrs.Gordon, Ms.Estravados, and Ms.Schmidt had worried themselves sick, and Margaret had tried to offer some calm and comfort and Mr.Masterman had calmly gone about serving tea and scotch accordingly.

By the time Marquez had gone out for the physician, picked up the man and gear, then brought them back, he had been a wreck. He had sat up in the kitchen, with Mrs.Gordon and Ms.Schmidt, drinking coffee and waiting. The nurse and Margaret had been called in by the physician, with orders to help Mrs.Armstrong. The nurse, Ms.Estravados, had seemed a bit worried though she had calmed considerably after the arrival of the doctor. Margaret had looked like a man going to the gallows, eyes wide and hands shaking.

An hour ago, Ms.Estravados had rushed down the stairs to announce the screaming they heard was of the new daughter- Daisy. Ms.Schmidt broke out some wine for the staff, except Marquez, as he would need to drive the doctor back in the snow and she estimated he would need all his wits about him for the task. Marquez made his excuses to stretch his legs and got up, walking around in the back hall when he heard the creaking of the stair to alert him to someone’s descent. He turned, moving to where he could be seen. He had expected the doctor or even Ms.Estravados with a request, and instead found Margaret.

She looked somewhat dazed, her sweater gone and wearing what looked like a large apron, and bringing down what looked like dirty towels. Her hair was coming loose from it’s pins and her makeup almost entirely gone, she looked harried enough to concern Marquez. He moved closer to the bottom of the stairs, checking only briefly to make sure they would not be seen.

“Margaret?”, he asked as he reaching, gently taking her elbow.

“Are you alright?”, he inquired as she moved to the bottom of the steps.

She sighed deeply before rolling her shoulders, making many of her joints crack.

“I have assisted many horses over the years, and even one cow, though nothing prepared me for tonight’s happenings. It is a wonder to me that any woman ever had a second child after all that.”

“Is she alright? Ms.Estravados only mentioned the new baby was a girl, whom they were naming Daisy.”

Margaret nodded, looking worn completely out.

“She is well enough, I suppose. The Doctor isn’t concerned, at least. She passed out almost immediately after, and they handed little Daisy off to the Colonel. Ms.Estravados had to tell him how to hold the child, as I had no real idea even though I was looked to as if I knew all the answers.”

“I suppose they figured most women would know such things.”

She shook her head. He noticed her color was not quite right, though chose not to mention it.

“I’m an only child and the youngest of the grandchildren. I’ve never cared for a baby in all my life.”

Before either of them could say another word, they heard the Doctor and the Colonel at the top of the stairs. Marquez took a step back from Margaret, letting her step off the stairs and head down the hall.

“Ah, Mr.Marquez, would you please take Dr.Henley back to his house?”

“Of course, Sir.”

Marquez drove the doctor, who slept most of the trip, back to his home in the city. It took twice the normal amount of time between the dark and the snow. The sun was just coming up as he returned to the house, which he found was almost too still for that hour. Mrs.Gordon was not bustling about the back rooms handing out tasks, Ms.Schmidt was not fixing breakfast for the Colonel and Mrs.Gordon, Mr.Masterman was not getting the paper and coffee ready for the Colonel, and Ms.Estravados was not making up her little remedy for her hangover. Instead, Margaret sat up in a chair at the kitchen table, still in her rumpled clothing from earlier, sound asleep with her head pressed face-down on the table.

He took a few seconds to admire the rare view of a sleeping Margaret, before moving to kneel next to her. He called her name gently, his hands hovering to make sure she did not fall from the chair when she woke.

“Margaret? Margaret? It’s morning, Margaret, wake up please?”

She tilted her head, causing it to roll onto her cheek and she scrunched up her face in clear displeasure.

“No. Tired. Sleep.”

She was adorably mussed, Marquez thought. And beautiful still.

“Come on, it’s time to get you back to bed.”

“Wanted to make sure you got home. Was worried.”

Leaning closer, he smiled at her.

“You worried about me, Maggie?”

She nodded slightly and awkwardly, her eyelids sliding closed again. A small snore emanated from her and Marquez barely held back his mirth. Gently, he placed a hand at the small of her back and reached to hold one her hands with the other.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your door. I’m sure even Mrs.Gordon would agree you are too tired for it to be inappropriate for you to have an escort.”

She seemed to attempt a nod, though he nearly had to lift her himself to get her upright. It was slow-going to head to the back hall and to start leading her back to her bedroom. He had not been there since he brought her bags the first day she was at the Armstrong house. She fished out her key when they arrived at the door and Marquez had to unlock her room, her hands were so stiff and ill-aimed.

“I cannot go in to put you in your bed, so please don’t fall once you get inside?”

She smiled, leaning to press a gentle kiss just at the corner of his jaw.

“You’re sweet.”, she muttered before slipping into her room, the door swinging closed behind her.

Marquez stood there, struck dumb and frozen for the moment. She had kissed him. Granted, she was practically drunk in her tiredness. The fact stood that she had kissed him. And then called him sweet. He reached, his fingers hovering over the spot where her warm lips had pressed to his skin as he smiled. If such a small gesture had him this locked up, he was in real trouble with Margaret.

“Goodnight.”, he whispered under his breath before turning to head back to the garage where a small bunk awaited him to catch a couple hours of sleep himself.

As Marquez settled into the bunk, his cap, shoes, and tie left beside him, he smiled. He was sure he would find sleep quickly and that when he did, that he would dream of a certain green-eyed Irish woman with warm, plump lips and work-roughened hands. They would be good dreams.


	2. Stolen Days, Happy Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happier times before Cosetti/Ratchet's crime tore so many lives asunder. Margaret gets her new job, Biniamino begins working at his new dealership while still caring for his sister and her children. Then, a short vacation a llows Margaret time for her first driving lesson and to share a few meals with the Marquez family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: None that I can think of.
> 
> Oiche mhaith mo leannan = Goodnight my sweetheart/lover  
> Carino = darling/dear/honey  
> (Both of those are according to the internet)

**Boston – Winter 1930**

The household was different, with a baby in their midst. Ms.Schmidt and Mrs.Gordon were especially careful of the new mother, fussing over every little thing with Mrs.Armstrong as well as the little girl. Mr.Masterman sometimes was seen fondly almost-smiling at the sight of the Colonel or Mrs.Armstrong when they carried the baby to sing to her in the sun room or the halls. The nurse, Ms.Estravados, would take Daisy’s care entirely to herself some evenings to allow Mrs.Armstrong some time with the Colonel or to go out among society.

Mr.Marquez and Ms.Byrne each had their own changes going on. Ms.Byrne had gone for a few days to visit the ranch up North with the stock horses and Mr.Marquez had been continuing to plan his dealership while also seeing that his eldest niece got off to school and sometimes rocking his younger niece to sleep as he hummed old lullabies from home to her, as Carlos was teething, keeping Isabella quite busy most evenings and nights of late. Today, however, Mr.Marquez was to pick Ms.Byrne up from her time at the ranch, and return her to the Armstrong household. A happy chore. When leaving the house, he had barely been able to contain his joy at seeing her again.

At the station, he was once more standing beside the car in his suit and cap, awaiting for an Irishwoman to leave her train. After a while, he spotted her. The Colonel and Mrs.Armstrong were a bit taken aback by the woman’s attire at first, as most of the staff were. It seemed they had grown accustomed to it and now hardly any of them thought to give Margaret a second-look at her manly garb. Biniamino found he liked that she dressed as if she had tailored a man’s suit to fit her. Making a man’s world work for her, it was a perfect metaphor he supposed.

As Margaret stepped down from the sidewalk, a small suitcase in her hand, she smiled brightly at him from under her cap. Biniamino rushed to her side, taking the case, their fingers brushing. Even through the thin net on her hat, he could still make out the slight blush at the tops of her cheeks and ears. Her Irish pallor made reading her so easy at times.

“Welcome back, Margaret.”

She dipped her head as she smiled, attempting to hide her blushing. They had not discussed her kissing him the morning Daisy had been born. It had been nearly two months ago and they had dodged every hint or mention of it to each other. Margaret followed him back to the car and barely waited for him to get her door for her. He placed her suitcase in the trunk and then moved around to the driver’s seat. He found her sitting so she could easily speak to him on the ride back and he could see her face in his mirror.

“How is everyone? How is Mrs.Armstrong?”

“Everyone is well. I think little Daisy is melting Mrs.Gordon’s hard shell a bit.”

“How is Carlos? He finally through giving Isabella so much grief?”

“Yes, I think. How did the trip go? Do you think you will take the position, for certain?”

He glanced back in the mirror to see that Margaret had removed her hat and the scarf tied about her neck once. The car was not particularly cozy, though out of the bitter winds of mid-February, it was a good deal better than the train station had been.

“I aim to, Biniamino.”

He nodded. It was not as if she had kept this a secret. She had told him first, even before she mentioned it to Mrs.Armstrong. He had known some months back, that Margaret had plans up East.

“Biniamino, I meant what I asked before. If you would come to see me, once you’re able to with the dealership and such. I have not changed my mind.”, she said before pausing to look at him more closely, “Have you?”

He shook his head.

“Not at all, Margaret.”

“Good. I would be sad to… If you were to decide to sever ties between us.”

Marquez reached back, catching where Margaret’s fingers were over the back of the seat separating them. Even through their combined layers of gloves, he could feel a slight warmth from her hands.

“I would not sever our ties so easily.”

She smiled at him. Marquez could have shouted out his happiness and relief. She would leave, though she would not leave him behind. He gave her fingers one more gentle squeeze before returning his second hand to the wheel and continuing back towards the Armstrong home.

The rest of the way passed in pleasant conversation about the things she had done at the ranch and the goings-on she had missed out on at the house, as well as a few details about Isabella, Marianne, Elaina, and Carlos. Ms.Schmidt was eagerly awaiting their return at the kitchen door when Marquez pulled up to let Margaret out and leave her suitcase with her. The cold left all of their breaths coming out as if they were dragons, a bit at odds with the bright smiles they were all showing.

“Oh, Ms.Byrne, it is good to have you back. You look well. They treated you as they should? No one was unkind to you?”

Margaret smiled up at the older cook as she pulled up her suitcase Marquez had passed to her.

“Everyone was perfectly kind to me, Ms.Schmidt. I promise, I was welcomed and treated well. I almost felt spoiled.”

Ms.Schmidt ushered Margaret in.

“Come, come. It is deathly cold out here, Ms.Byrne. Let us get you inside. I have a fresh pot of tea and we can get to it once we’ve installed you and gotten you out of that coat.”

Marquez smiled as he watched them. When Margaret left, she would be missed. Though, at least with Daisy running about, the staff would have someone else keeping them all on their toes. He drove the car into place and then headed back up to the house. Ms.Schmidt’s tea was delicious and he was hoping to snag a cup for himself if he could. He might also try to catch a few more moments with Margaret before Mrs.Gordon or Mr.Masterman found a reason to separate them.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days after her return, Margaret found herself sitting across from Biniamino in the garage, a small medical kit of sorts in her lap, as she cleaned up a cut for him. He had been working under the bonnet of the car when she heard him let out a noise she knew had been a suppressed curse word in his native tongue. When she had checked in on him, he had been waving a hand in the air, blood running down his finger. Now, his hand lay over a towel on the little work bench table, as she wiped up the blood and began working to bandage it.

“This looks a bit deep. Are you sure you shouldn’t see a physician and… perhaps be stitched?”

“I’m alright. Just needed cleaning and something to cover it to keep the dirt out. I promise, I’ll be careful not to pull off the dressing.”

She looked up to see him smiling cheekily at her. Margaret shook her head and returned her gaze to the injury at hand. Marquez watched her dark eyes for a moment. He glanced to make sure they were alone before broaching the topic he had not yet dared to venture towards, for over two months.

“Seeing as Masterman and Gordon keep to the house in this weather, this may well be the closest we will come to being alone. May we discuss what happened that morning at your door?”

Marquez watched as she shifted a bit, clearly uncomfortable.

“If you would rather forget it, we can just”, she interrupted him, “No.”

“No?”

She was looking right at him, though seemingly a bit started.

“I do not wish to forget it happened or anything of that sort.”

She tied off the smaller wrap around his palm and let out a breath, closing her eyes for a second as she retracted her hands. When she opened her eyes, she looked anywhere but towards his face. Marquez could not recall seeing her so ill at ease over a simple conversation.

“I was raised to be my grandfather’s right-hand man. I rode horses, fixed plows, worked on the roof, helped patch up wounds, and even looked over the wording on contracts, all before I was 12. When I was old enough to have classmates courting and to begin receiving my own suitors, I was… adrift. I had not a single idea what to do with a suitor or how to court. I knew business, horses, manual labor, things of that sort. I did not know how to be sweet, how to dance, to be meek and surrender to a boy’s affections.”

She let out a slow breath. Marquez waited. He would always wait for her.

“I fear I am still at a loss for how a woman goes about engaging in a romance with a man, no matter how special he may be.”

Marquez could have done a dance. Leaning further forward, he captured one of Margaret’s hands in his own, uninjured one. Looking her directly in the eyes, he spoke honestly to her.

“I chased a few girls when I was a boy, as an adult though, I have… I have kept to myself, Margaret. I have not chased women. I needed to establish myself, and to get myself to a place where I could take care of Isabella and the little ones. That has left me no time for romancing.”

He pulled her pale hand up, placing a small kiss on the back of her knuckles. This close, he could tell for certain that she had worked most of her life. She had callouses and scars to prove it.

“I would like to try it, together, Margaret. We have been honest, you know my inexperience, I know yours.”

Margaret smiled at him, her dark lips parting to reveal a full bloom of her expression.

“I believe I could agree to that, Mr.Marquez.”

Grinning, he nodded.

“Alright, Ms.Byrne.”

He turned her pale hand gently, placing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, allowing his mustache to tickle against her skin a bit. She squirmed, smiling at hm in a way to hint that she would pay him back for his teasing her.

“Come on, I need to finish with your cut.”

He released her second hand to allow her to complete the task that had brought her to sit with him in the garage. For a moment, he allowed his mind to wander. He could see the two of them, in their own home someday, holding hands as they sat in the living room with Isabella, the children, and perhaps a good man for Isabella and the little ones to be cared for by, a big family gathering that would have made his mother and grandparents happy to have seen. He could picture going for drives, out to a lake or a park, allowing he and Margaret to have some peaceful, quiet place. They could talk, look at the water, walk. She might get a chill and he would give her his coat and with her fingers threaded through his, he would not care of the chill so long as it kept her close to him.

Indeed, Marquez was sure, he was sitting across from the woman he would love all his days. He could only hope she felt the same. The kiss had given him hope to fuel his belief that they might share a life together. Despite the slight pain of his wound, he smiled as she finished tying off the bandage.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Boston – 1931

Marquez laughed heartily at the sight before him. He had promised he would teach Margaret to drive and he would keep to his word. However, watching her yelling from behind the driver’s seat, as some ducks dared to waddle out and force her to slam the breaks, was entirely too entertaining for him to hold back his laughter. Holding his middle, he tried to bring back his breath, his mirth too strong.

“Stupid ducks! I could have killed you!”

He continued to laugh at her as she continued to shriek at the beasts, in her own native tongue, the harsh consonants rounded by her sing-song way of speaking the old language. At last she stopped, though only to turn to him with a scowl.

“I could have killed them!”

He nodded, trying valiantly to hold back another burst of laughter. Her face softened and she too, began to chuckle.

“I do suppose it is not like they know they are in my way. They think I am making noise on their path.”

Once the ducks were done, she moved around and came to park the car where Marquez had parked it earlier, awaiting their lesson. Her boss, Mr.Henderson, had given her leave while he was in Boston to attend a family event and had brought two of his horses to show in a competition. Margaret had four whole days to herself and they had decided they would make the most of this time.

As soon as she had exited the car, Marquez swept her up into his arms to spin her around once. He was excited to see how she had progressed in her driving skills and he looked for every opportunity to touch her. To be near her. Being in Boston while she lived outside of a town too far North and too far East for his liking, he saw far less of her than he had when they had both worked in the Armstrong home.

“Meeno! You’ll break her!”

He turned to find his sister glaring at him, a washrag in her hand and a scowl on her beautiful face. He placed Margaret back on her feet, though he did not release his hold of her or feel her release the one she had on his shoulders.

“She is too tough for me to break her, Isabella. I promise you.”, he said in his native tongue.

Isabella shook her head and turned, going back into the house. Margaret let out a very light snort, as if she had been holding back a laugh. Marquez also chuckled quietly, allowing his head to fall to Margaret’s shoulder.

“I think she’s as bad as Mrs.Gordon, in her own way.”, she whispered.

“I whole heartedly agree, carino.”

Leaning towards her face, Marquez placed a light kiss on her full, dark lips. He could have spent all day kissing her and yet was denied that. It was not proper and Isabella would have had his head for trying. Margaret was no stickler for propriety.

“Come on, dinner will be done soon and she’ll be mad if you are late to the table.”

Margaret’s hand slipped to take hold of his, the two of them falling into step beside each other as they headed into the kitchen. He had quite liked the house he purchased, with two nice bedrooms upstairs, the master bedroom, and a second smaller bedroom in the ground floor across from the master. The kitchen was larger than one might expect in a house of that size, which Isabella loved, and a sunroom out back of the house. The night before, when it had been pouring rain and Margaret had first arrived, the two of them had sat out in the sunroom for several hours just talking over some coffee.

Every week he sent her at least one, sometimes as many as three letters. He had even purchased a telephone machine and so had she, allowing them to sometimes talk when it had been a long time since they had spoken. She traveled a bit with her employer, Mr.Henderson, allowing her less opportunity to get away than Marquez at with his dealership. They had no lack of things to talk about and share as they spoke in the sunroom, though they also shared a few quieter moments, simply soaking in the other’s presence. He had missed her more than he thought possible.

“Meeno?”, he looked up to see his sister giving him a knowing look before she handed him the silverware.

“Set the table, please?”, she asked in their native tongue.

“How can I help?”, Margaret asked.

“You don’t. You’re a guest.”

“Oh.”

Marquez and his sister exchanged a look. Isabella relented.

“Could you call for Marianne? I’ll go up and get Carlos and Elaina from their naps.”

Margaret brightened at having a task, even a small one. Once she had left, Isabella turned to her brother. Not since they were children, had she seen him so light and happy as he was when he heard Margaret would have a few days to visit with him. And that lightness had only increased as the visit grew closer. Now, he was as a child on Christmas.

“Brother?”

He looked up at her from the table, halfway done with his task. Isabella spoke in Spanish to ensure that Margaret learn nothing even if she overheard anything. The woman’s Spanish was terrible but improving.

“She makes you happy and it seems she is happy to be near you. Perhaps you might do something about that.”

Meeno just smiled at her before returning to the task at hand. Isabella shook her head at him, feeling the fond smile she always had for him, as she walked off to collect her two younger children for dinner.

The evening passed warmly, the food devoured by six hungry diners as they talked and joked. Elaina, in particular, seemed talkative and engaged with their guest. Biniamino was delighted to see how his nieces and nephew appeared to take to Margaret. By her own admission, she was not always the most comfortable with children. Isabella had barely had to issue any reminders of manners to any of them through the whole meal or dessert after. A minor miracle, at their table.

When the food was all eaten, Marianna had taken her siblings upstairs to get ready for bed while the three adults cleaned up at the table. Before long, the children were all asleep in their beds and Isabella had retired to her room to do some sewing she claimed was in dire need of finishing. Biniamino knew it for what it was. His sister was ensuring he and Margaret had some privacy before Margaret would need to return to her hotel.

Biniamino brought out a mug of coffee to Margaret, another in his left hand for himself. He put only a little milk in his and otherwise left it alone, while Margaret added sugar, cream, and milk if she had access to all three. He had fixed hers as he recalled seeing her fixing it hundreds of times back at the Armstrong kitchen.

“Thank you.”, she said softly as he passed her the mug.

They were sitting out on the back porch, where the trees and fence offered them privacy from his neighbors. For a long moment, neither spoke. Tomorrow was the final day of Margaret’s vacation and she would have to return to Mr.Henderson and his horses on Friday.

“Are you thinking about how little time we’ve left?”, she asked.

Biniamino smiled as he shook his head.

“Do you see my thoughts?”

She chuckled lightly, though her face was a little sad.

“I didn’t think about it myself, until we were eating dessert and Elaina mentioned Sunday school. Then it occurred to me, I won’t be here when she comes back, to tell me all about what she learned. By then, I’ll be heading to Georgia for that show.”

He nodded, then looked down into the cup resting on his lap. Margaret’s hand slipped over, catching his without either of them looking. For a moment, they sat quietly, holding hands and doing their best to banish the thoughts of their dwindling time.

“Do you have any idea when you’re next vacation might be?”

“Very little.”

He considered.

“I have a car show coming up. I could see if it allows me any time to visit you? If you would like that?”

Margaret turned to shoot him a bright smile that made her forest-colored eyes get all squinted.

“I would love it, actually.”

“Good.”, he pronounced with a nod for emphasis. “Then I’ll look at my schedule and see when I have a place where I can sneak away to come over and see you.”

Margaret’s smile softened a bit.

“Even if all you can manage is a shared meal in town, when you are crossing from Point A to Point B, it would be worth it to me, and I would meet up with you wherever you could stop off from the train.”

“I would hope I could find more than barely time enough for a single shared meal, though I will take all that I can get, carino.”

“What does that word mean? You’ve used it a lot the last couple days and… I confess I don’t know it.”

“It means… uh… I think the closest in English would be darling or dear.”

She nodded, smiling.

“Leannan.”, she whispered before leaning to press a gentle kiss to his jaw, moving to his lips before whispering it again.

“What does that mean, carino?”

“Sweetheart or beloved.”

He smiled. Leannan. He could get used to being called that. Leaning, he captured her lips for a bit more passionate a kiss. She pulled back, both of them breathing a bit heavily.

“Isabella will get suspicious if I return you with kiss-swollen lips, leannan.”, she whispered.

“Let her be. She hasn’t had call to fuss at me for days.”

She chuckled breathily before he once more pressed his lips to hers, setting his coffee aside in favor of being able to hold her closer. She did the same. For a long few minutes, Biniamino held Margaret close, kissing her as if his life depended upon the connection. Her fingers ran up through his hair, driving him a little wild as one of his hands crept to her hip, feeling the softness beneath her pants and the firm muscle further below.

“Biniamino?”

He paused, looking back at Margaret. Her lipstick was long gone before dinner and now her lips were a bit swollen from their kissing, her face flushed, and her expression soft.

“Yes?”

“I think I heard Isabella?”

He nodded. They probably had not laughed or such loudly enough in the past half hour, and his sister would be getting a glass of water as an excuse to check out the kitchen window and ensure there was nothing improper going on.

Biniamino stood, offering a hand to Margaret. She seemed to understand, offering a nod before taking his hand and letting him help her to her feet.

“May I drive you back to your hotel rather than calling you a cab? Then I can at least make sure you get inside safely.”

“I am certain I am safe in Boston, Biniamino, however, I believe it would not be improper for a host to ensure his guest arrived safely in her hotel.”

He grinned at her, shaking his head.

“I’ll get your jacket and be right out.”

He just did spot Isabella heading back to her bedroom, so he scribbled a note in the kitchen by the sink, then grabbed the jackets and his key to the car. A couple minutes later, he was back in the car with Margaret, heading towards her hotel. The dark allowed them some anonymity and freedom. Margaret reached, holding his hand as he gently steered on a road thankfully well-kept enough not to force him to have two hands taut on the wheel.

“I promise, I will find some time on my trip, to come and see you, carino. I promise.”

“We said we would make all possible effort. I aim to keep my promise, leannan. I don’t think either of us realized, at the time, how hard this might be for us.”

“Worth it.”

“Definitely.”

Soon, he was pulling up to her hotel’s front doors. Biniamino could put it off nolonger. It was time to say goodnight and allow her to go up to bed. Neither moved from their seats, however.

“Would you like to have breakfast with us? I could pick you up for it?”

“I would, actually. Same time as today?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“I will come and get you then, Ms.Byrne.”

She grinned at the familiar teasing. Biniamino exited the car, then moved around to get her door for her. In public before other patrons and the doorman, he had to be more moderate in his show of affection to her. Biniamino pressed a quick kiss to Margaret’s cheek.

“Goodnight, mi carino.”

“Oiche mhaith, mo leannan.”, she said quietly before walking off towards the doors.


	3. Terrible Tidings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret and Biniamino learn Daisy's fate after her kidnapping. Then, things go from bad to worse, before a glimmer of hope and then.... the promise of justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triggers: Remember how they are all avenging the murder of 'little Daisy' and how her pregnant mother died then her dad killed himself out of grief- this is the chapter where all that happens. Grief, mourning, coping, and such are discussed. If you want, please skip down to the NOTES and I will give you the info you'll need if you should choose to skip to Chapter 4 (this is a fairly sad chapter, so I would completely understand). I wrote until I got to a glimmer of hope and could end things on a slightly less bleak note, however there was no avoiding all the tragedy that sets up why everyone was willing to get on that train and exact their justice on Ratchet.
> 
> NOTES: These are spoiler-y, mostly in case you wish to skip the chapter but don't want to be lost when you read the last chapter. Things to know--- Biniamino has written to Margaret's family to get their blessing to ask her to marry him, he will have only just gotten their blessings when Mrs.Arden's invitation arrives asking those who loved Daisy & the Armstrongs, to join her on the Orient Express. We also learn Mr.Henderson (Margaret's boss) has a grandfatherly care & concern for her, yet he doesn't poke his nose in her business or have anything to say about Biniamino staying for a couple days in her guest room at the Foreman's House, when Biniamino comes to check on Margaret. There, you're all caught up. Please, let me reiterate, if you will be terribly upset at scenes of funerals, the mentions of people reacting with great depth of pain at loss, the mentions of children/pregnant women dying, suicide, or any of what happened (in the movie's flashbacks) to the Armstrong family --- please skip Chapter Three? I don't want to upset anyone, and the descriptions of grief, sadness, anger, and even hints of depression and denial, may be upsetting for some.

Boston – Autumn, 1934

Margaret stood outside her employer’s door, trying to calm her nerves. She was not in the habit of hysterics or of asking favors, nor did she often request time away. Certainly, she did not stop in his office unannounced, to ask to leave on the evening train to go to Boston for a few days. This situation, however, was far from normal. It was a terrible circumstance.

“Margaret, quit your worrying woman, and come in!”, he beckoned.

Margaret did as she was bid, stepping into her employer’s office. Mr.Henderson was a widower for almost 20 years and had raised two sons on his own. Neither had much interest in their father’s horse business or his riding hobby. That was why he had been so eager to hire Margaret- he would have a woman about with him on business trips and he would have someone he trusted, to be the manager, trainer, and caretaker of his horses.

His office was an accurate reflection of the man. Sturdy, well-built furniture filled the room, books almost overflowed the shelves, photographs of his favorite horses throughout the years were decorating many flat surfaces, and over the small fireplace was a painting of a beautiful woman, about 30 years of age, with a hint of a smile as if she had been about to laugh at a naughty joke. His wife had been the love of his life and he refused to hear his sons or sister talk of him remarrying. He preferred his horses, Margaret, his butler, and his childhood friend who lived just down the road. They were all the company he needed, according to Mr.Henderson.

“Margaret, I’ve never seen you fret so.”, he said with his bushy eyebrows shooting up into his sandy-brown hair.

“I have a request, Mr.Henderson, an urgent one.”

He gestured for her to sit across from him, his lined face full of concern. Margaret moved into the sumptuous leather chair, letting out a breath.

“You may recall that, before I worked for you, I worked for and lived in the household of a Col.Armstrong and his wife?”

“Yes, I do. I spoke with him briefly at a charity event some time back. Nice fellow. His wife was radiant.”

“That she is, sir. I’ve recently learned their elder child was kidnapped. Daisy is her name. Mrs.Armstrong is currently expecting a second babe and I would like your permission to take leave for a few days in order to go and be of some support to her.”

“Margaret, of course. You must leave at once! Pack whatever you need. I will call Reginald and have him see to the horses for the next week or so. You needn’t worry to rush your assistance to Mrs.Armstrong. She will need all the friends and Angels that can be spared for her.”

“Thank you.”, Margaret said as she stood up.

Mr.Henderson stood as well, his voice a bit thicker with emotion.

“My Grace and I nearly lost our elder boy when he was four. He was fearfully sick. I can’t imagine what we would have done if he’d been away from us in such an instance as the Colonel and his lady are in now. At least we could sit with him, and comfort Harry with songs and cold compresses. They have only worry and fear. Go to them at once, Margaret. And please, tell them that I will keep them and little Daisy in my prayers morning and night?”

“I will surely do so, sir. Thank you.”

He waved it off.

“Go on, girl. You see to your business and I’ll have Thomas ready the car to take you to the station. Do you know when the train to Boston departs?”

“Five.”

“Well you had best hurry, dear. I’ll call for Thomas.”, he said as he followed her out of the office, then turned to walk to the kitchen while Margaret headed to the Foreman’s house, where she lived.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Margaret did not mind trains. Trains had brought her to some of the best places she had been and delivered her to some of the best people she had known. Boston and everyone at the Armstrong home, being chief among those in America. However, she was now coming back to try to be a comfort to Sarah, and the Colonel, as they awaited any news of little Daisy.

Margaret was not particularly fond of children, though Daisy had wormed her way into Margaret’s heart as surely as Marianna, Elaina, and Carlos had done. These four children were her only exceptions, and to think of any harm coming to any of them, broke Margaret in a way she had never known nor had words to describe. She could not begin to fathom how Sarah or the Colonel must have felt. Or how the household was dealing with it.

Soon enough, the train pulled into the station. She had phoned Biniamino before she left and Isabella had answered. Biniamino had gone to the Armstrong house to sit with the staff in the kitchen and listen for news, and to offer any comfort he could for the Armstrongs as well. Isabelle promised her next call would be to the number for the staff, ensuring the Armstrongs’ would not go up thinking it was the kidnappers’ call, and she would alert Biniamino that he would need to pick Margaret up.

Isabella had thanked Margaret for making the trip. She was worried Meeno was not going to handle it well if things should turn out badly, and she also worried for Mrs.Armstrong to be in the midst of carrying a second baby when awaiting news of your first, knowing any moment the phone could ring and it be the police delivering the worst news imaginable. Margaret had asked if the children knew. They did. Isabella’s suitor also knew, and had come over to sit with she and the children while they awaited news just as the Armstrong household did.

Now, it was time to depart. Margaret grabbed her small bag and waited for the order to exit the train. Within minutes, she was again on the Boston platform, looking for Biniamino.

Then, in the dim light, she spotted him. He stood tall in the haze of the winter chill coming down to settle in Boston. It matched well with how everyone must have been feeling as they prayed for Daisy. Margaret stepped down from the platform and met Biniamino’s gaze. He did not smile. Not eve a hint of one. His eyes were wet and his chin trembled as his shoulders shook.

“Daisy?”

He nodded. Margaret swayed on her feet, her suitcase forgotten as she felt her heart shatter. Biniamino was there in a heartbeat, pulling her close, his own tears falling.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know all the details but they… the police said they found… her body, in the woods… She’s gone, Margaret. When the Colonel and Mrs.Armstrong heard, she fell the ground, screaming…The sound Margaret, I could swear I could hear her heart break. The Colonel could not console her, she cried harder and harder, pleading to wake up, for someone to bring Daisy back to her. I drove her to the hospital, with the Colonel in the back seat with her and their one neighbor, Mrs.Palver, rode up front with me. She stayed with the Colonel as they took Mrs.Armstrong back to the doctors.”

Margaret looked up at Biniamino’s face. His eyes were bloodshot with purple circles below them. He had been there for the first months of Daisy’s life. Had been there for the party held when the Armstrongs announced Daisy’s arrival in the world, for her Baptism, and her first words. And now… she was gone.

“The doctors said some things to the Colonel, and he sent me off to get you, as I had mentioned you were coming back to sit with them. Mrs.Palver asked if I would bring you back, since she knew you and Mrs.Armstrong still wrote to each other and had been close.”

Margaret nodded.

“Please, Meeno? Anything I can do to help, I will.”

He nodded. Helping her pick her things back up from her opened, forgotten suitcase, Biniamino then walked with her back to the car. Neither spoke as he drove, and Margaret did not sit in back. At this point, their relationship was public and in the circumstances, Margaret could not have cared less about the propriety of her sitting alone in a car, so close, with a man.

They rode in silence, with Margaret’s hand on Biniamino’s knee, occasionally squeezing it when she noticed his hands shake or any sound to indicate he was to cry. She knew he was trying to be strong. For the Colonel, for Sarah, for the staff, for Isabella and the little ones, and probably for Margaret as well. Especially as she had been so knocked back by his news of Daisy.

The hospital was one of the few buildings still brightly lit at such a wee hour of the morning. Margaret thought how it was meant as a beacon to allow it to be seen for miles. A guiding light. Yet, right now, all she could think was how the Colonel and Sarah must feel, then adding all the lights and voices of the hospital.

Biniamino parked the car and they headed inside quickly. Meeno had to lead the way, as Margaret had not been inside before and had no idea where they would have taken Sarah to, or where the Colonel and Mrs.Palver might have been forced to sit and wait. It did not take long to find them. Mrs.Palver was crouched on the ground, crying silently with her mouth wide open and her whole body trembling. The Colonel, formerly so warm and vibrant beside his bride, stood rigid and as if frozen. His eyes were lost, his expression blank.

Margaret knelt in front of Mrs.Palver. The widow had been such a friend to Sarah, and generally kind to the staff as well when she visited.

“What has happened?”

“Sarah… and the baby….”, the woman could not utter any more, bursting again into fresh, hot tears.

Margaret let the woman lean against her, soaking Margaret’s jacket with her tears as Biniamino moved to the Colonel’s side. Margaret could not hear them over the sounds of Mrs.Palver’s sobs and gasps. Margaret simply rocked the older woman gently, back and forth, rubbing a hand up and down her back. Anything she could think of to try to ease the woman’s suffering.

~*~*~*~*~

Isabella had prepared a late supper for them and sent the kids up to bed, her beau heading home with a promise to return early in the morning to sit with the kids and allow Isabella to care for Biniamino and Margaret. She had tried to offer her room to Margaret, saying she could sleep in her son’s bedroom on a camping bed they had. Margaret had insisted she would sleep on the camping bed, in the living room.

Isabella, in another time and place, might have insisted for propriety sake at least. However, as a mother watching her beloved brother and his dearest love, as they mourned and had to help their friends mourn, she could not find it in herself to push them. Instead, she felt the need to hug her three children until they refused to be held any longer.

For now, she stuck to insisting they eat at least a little soup and drink some tea she had made up for them. Too many hours on an empty stomach did no one any favors. Especially not those grieving. A heavy heart and an empty stomach were an ill-fated combination.

The two ate and drank enough to satisfy her for the evening, and she retired to her room after clearing the table. Biniamino had made to help her and waved him off. He thanked her, giving her a kiss on the cheek, before heading over to pour he and Margaret each another cup of tea. When he went back, Isabella made no comment about his moving to sit beside Margaret at the table instead of returning to the head. They needed whatever comfort they could find tonight.

“Maggie?”

She looked over at Meeno. He seemed so lost, she reached to catch his free hand in hers, giving it a squeeze as she looked up into those brown eyes she loved so dearly.

“Will you stay for the funerals?”

“Mr.Henderson gave me leave to stay as long as I was needed. I fear the Colonel will need some help, in the coming days. I will stay at least for the funerals and… for a while after. I’m not sure what help I can be to him, but I would be here to offer whatever he may need of me.”

Biniamino nodded.

“He will likely need someone to go through her things and… pick a… funeral dress for she, and Daisy, and… the baby.”

“It was a boy, Mrs.Palver said, before her sister and son came to collect her. I’m sure, with her love of shopping and preparing, she must have purchased a few things a little boy might wear. If not, I will find something appropriate. It wouldn’t do for the Colonel to have to attend such a task.”

“No one should, Maggie. No one.”

“Yes, no one.”

He leaned his head against her shoulder.

“How will he go on? How will he face the mornings, knowing she nolonger wakes beside him, that their children have been collected up to Heaven and her with them?”

Maggie shook her head.

“I don’t know, Meeno. I just… I don’t know. I suppose he must find a way. All Sarah wanted was… a little copy of the Colonel, to pretend to fly as he did, and run all about the house. And a little girl to dress up and watch as the Colonel spoiled her rotten.”

Margaret felt her own fresh wave of tears and forced herself to breathe. To hold them back. She could not think if she were a weeping mess. Biniamino let go of her hand to rub her back slowly, comfortingly.

“I wish I could have done something. I keep thinking if I had been still working for them, that maybe I might have noticed the kidnappers? Something?”

Margaret shook her head.

“They came in through the window, in the middle of the afternoon, when you would have been driving Sarah or the Colonel. They knew when the house was most-vulnerable. When Ms.Schmidt was doing the shopping, Mr.Masterson was attending the Colonel, the new driver was out with Sarah, and Ms.Estavados was asleep with Daisy, and there was no one around to stop them or alert the authorities. You could not have prevented this any more than I could have.”

She raised his chin, forcing him to look at her.

“There was nothing any of us could have done, Biniamino. Please, please do not further torture yourself this way? Sometimes… there is no explanation. No way of making a thing right. There is only how to go on from it.”

He nodded, leaning to press his forehead to hers. They both breathed and comforted, trying to keep the darkness and heartbreak at bay.

“Are you ready to sleep?”, he asked quietly.

“No, but I need to. So do you.”

“Isabella got out the blankets when she was waiting for us to come home. They are likely on the camping bed.”

“I’ll need to thank her in the morning.”

“I think you should consider sleeping on the couch, mi carino. It is softer and warmer.”

“Then I will.”

They finished their tea in silence, moving only after both could find no more reason to linger at the table. Biniamino ensured that the blankets, a pillow, and her bag were near the couch before he went off to dress for bed in his own room, leaving Margaret to change in the lavatory. She looked broken about the edges, since he had told her about Daisy, though she was holding together better than he thought himself to being managing.

Once he was dressed, Biniamino moved, about to go down the hall to check on Margaret. Only Isabella stood just outside his door, her robe over a bright blue nightgown he was sure Marianna and Elaina had picked out for her last Christmas. He had been happy to buy it and have it sent to his dealership, where he could ensure Isabella did not see it until Christmas morning.

“Are you alright, Meeno?”

“I do not believe I will be able to answer that for a while, hermana.”

She nodded, reaching to embrace him. It seemed he had been in need of a lot of embracing lately. He felt tears threaten to spill over again.

“I will not warn you of your behavior, Meeno. Go to her, comfort her, let her comfort you, but please be a gentleman? You are both too shaken for anything else.”

He nodded. She was right. Neither could face anything more than they faced now.

In the following days, Margaret helped Mrs.Gordon picked out clothes for Sarah and the children to wear, then sent the three outfits off the funeral home. The Colonel hosted a small reception after the viewing, with Mrs.Palver stepping in with Mrs.Gordon and Margaret, to act as hostesses. They laid in food and drink, checked with guests, and cleaned afterwards. Mr.Masterson took special care to every detail of the Colonel’s attire and had even helped the man shave as his hands were shaking too much the morning of the funerals.

Isabella had left the children with her beau, John, in order to stand with Biniamino and Margaret, who were both trying to support Mr.Masterson, Mrs.Gordon, Mrs.Palver, Ms.Schmidt, Ms.Estavados, and the new driver, Mr.Carson. Sarah’s mother, Mrs.Ardon, had flown in as well as her other daughter and her son-in-law.

Margaret had never met Mrs.Arden or Sarah’s sister, Helena. As beautiful as Sarah had been, Margaret had not been prepared for how lovely Mrs.Arden was or how almost ethereal Helena appeared. Both looked like something from a Bronte novel, cloaked in black, their faces blank from grief, with Helena being held upright only by her husband’s arm and Mrs.Arden as solid as a stone pillar.

The Priest said a few words, then it was time for everyone to throw their handful of dirt. Margaret pulled the three roses she had purchased the night before. A pink one for Sarah who had loved pink roses, and two white ones for Daisy and her little brother, whom the Colonel had decided to name Joseph Alexander Armstrong after his two grandfathers. Biniamino walked behind her as she approached and gently let go of the first rose, letting the pink lay over Sarah’s glimmering coffin. Biniamino threw a handful of dirt atop it, then walked with Margaret to the two smaller coffins, resting to Sarah’s right. They repeated their offerings before moving to the Colonel and Mrs.Arden.

“Mrs.Arden?”, Margaret started.

“Yes?”

“I’m Margaret, I used to live with and work for your daughter and the Colonel.”

She nodded, her blue eyes bright with tears, under the hazy morning light.

“If there is anything you, your daughter, or the Colonel need, please don’t hesitate? Sarah was a good friend, and she was only ever kind to me. Anything I can do, I would.”

“Thank you. I won’t be staying long. My flight leaves in the morning to return back to New York, then I have a boat to catch back to London. The Colonel, however, may need you in the coming days. He will need a lot, in the coming days.”

Mrs.Arden gave a nod, then turned, walking off. She only paused long enough to grasp the Colonel’s shoulder for a moment, looking at his profile, before leaving him to stare into the three holes. Biniamino and Mr.Masterson moved to the Colonel, flanking him. He had outlived first his grandparents, then parents, and a brother during the War. He had been alone, aside from Sarah and Daisy. Now, he was alone once more.

Margaret and Ms.Schmidt stood just behind the three of them, keeping an eye and offering their presence as comfort while mourners passed by, offering condolences and offers for the Colonel to come and stay with them. At last, when everyone but the five of them and the Priest had left, the Colonel walked over to the graves. The diggers were slowly walking up with shovels, ready to fill in and cover over the coffins. The Priest waved them off at Margaret’s look.

“Do you suppose he should be alone?”, the Priest asked Margaret and Ms.Schmidt as he stood near them, watching the Colonel.

“Many have offered to let him stay with them, Father. He has not taken any of the offers up. I fear he has not registered a word said to him today.”

The Priest shook his head, the feathery white hair dancing over his slightly small ears.

“I fear that is to be expected after such a loss, Miss. Perhaps then, he should have someone stay with him. Is there a friend who might?”

“I could.”, Margaret offered. All eyes moved to her.

“Mrs.Arden said he would have a need of friends now. I could stay in my old room, if it is not occupied.”

Ms.Schmidt smiled.

“The new driver stays there, but you could… what is the word, bunk?”

Margaret nodded.

“You could bunk with me. I have a larger room, since Mrs.Gordon traded with me to be on the first floor. Her arthritis did not allow so many trips on the stairs so we traded before Thanksgiving.”

“If you don’t mind, I could do just that. Then there would be us, Mr.Masterson, and Mr.Carson.”

Ms.Schmidt nodded solemnly.

“Pilar has moved on, the guilt has been too heavy for her and as there is no baby or child in the house….”, Ms.Schimidt trailed off before pressing her kerchief to her mouth, suppressing a cry.

The Colonel walked back over to them and the Priest walked off, presumably to the diggers to inform them they could return to finish their work. Ms.Schmidt reached to hold the Colonel’s hand.

“Sir, might Ms.Byrne stay at the house? That will allow the four of us and she, to look after your needs better.”

He shook his head.

“I have made arrangements for you, Mr.Masterson, Mr.Carson, Mrs.Gordon, and both Helena and her new husband, to stay at the Emissary Hotel for tonight. I wish to be alone. I have… letters to write and calls to make. Ones I wish privacy for.”

They all nodded, feeling guilty at not being able to offer him more. He permitted them to walk with him and for Mr.Carson to drive him home with instructions that he would leave straight away from the house. Ms.Schmidt shook her head as they headed to the car Biniamino had driven she and Margaret over in.

“I do not feel right to leave him in that large house, all alone.”

Margaret shared her feeling.

“Perhaps he feels…smothered, at all our attention and care? When my gran passed, my grandfather shut himself away for days. He would receive no visitors and answer no letters. When, at last, he emerged, he was finally ready to deal with the fact that she was truly gone. That she was not coming back.”

Mr.Masterson nodded as he got the door for Ms.Schmidt.

“That is a sound thought, Ms.Byrne. I know my own father was much the same for his grief. He wished to mourn privately, without audience or pestering. I fear we may have been a bit more than the Colonel can handle, at present.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Margaret had declined Ms.Schmidt and Mr.Masterson’s offers to talk to the hotel manager about getting her a room. She insisted she had a room elsewhere and did not have the energy to move her belongings. It was not a complete lie, she only left out that her other room was actually Biniamino’s comfortable couch rather than a hotel. He did not speak up to offer any hint that she was holding back from her friends.

Once they had bit everyone a goodnight, Biniamino drove Margaret and Isabella back to the house. John had fixed a light supper of simple sandwiches and reheated a soup Isabella had made a couple days prior, with fresh coffee as well. Margaret smiled as she watched John and Isabella embrace then walk off after supper to go talk on the back porch. She was glad Isabella was not alone now as she would need to help Biniamino once Margaret returned to Mr.Henderson’s estate.

Mr.Henderson had ridden the train down for the funeral, offering his condolences to the Colonel, Mrs.Arden, Helena, and Margaret. Before he left to return to his friend’s home he was staying at for the night, he reminded Margaret to stay as long as she was needed and that he would see to the horses himself if need be, while she was in Boston. She had thanked him and hugged him.

Now, she sat in the little study with Biniamino, both staring into the small fireplace with their minds a million miles off. Margaret was about to suggest they head to bed when she felt Biniamino’s fingers brush against the back of her hand.

“When you go back… you will not shut me out, will you?”

His voice was so quiet and… tentative. Margaret turned towards him, leaning forward.

“Why would you think that, leannan?”

“I might bring too many memories for you. You might wish to forget things that were too painful.”

She shook her head. She was vehement and would not be moved on the matter.

“Meeno, no. It was painful to ride again after I lost my first horse. She was no fowl when my grandfather first let me ride her, and when I lost her, I thought I’d never ride again. But I did. I rode a horse that none of my grandfather’s men could tame down enough to touch, let alone ride. For days, I worked beside her and worked in the coral with her. I was determined she could be a good work horse if someone had some patience with her. And when I rode her the first time, I cried as I remembered how much I missed my first horse, Cara. But McKenna was a beautiful, willful horse and she became my best friend. I never stopped missing Cara, and I still have Cara’s reins locked away in a trunk. There are a few things in that trunk, my grandmother’s rosary, some letters from loved ones, my father’s last birthday present he gave me before he left, three collars from dogs I had in childhood, and a stone from where my other grandfather is buried. Every one of those things brings up memories, most of which are as painful as they were the day I lost each of those people or animals, but… keeping those things lets the memories stay a little brighter, a little more solid for me, so I don’t forget all the times I rode Cara like we were flying over the whole world. All the times I went fishing with my grandfathers. When I would see my gran praying before she went to bed of a night. Of playing with those three dogs whom I love dearly and who always made me smile with their antics. I treasure those memories even though they hurt. I wouldn’t trade any of those memories, or the moments that made them, for all the tea in China or the gold in El Dorado. Yes, it hurts to think of times we spent together, at the Armstrong house but I don’t want to forget a moment of it. I want it burned in my memory. I want to remember Sarah’s laughter and way of making you feel like she had all the time in the world for you. I want to recall how Daisy giggled when someone teased her and how she danced around with the Colonel in his study sometimes. I want to think of how happy Sarah would have been to have a son, how the Colonel would have enjoyed his family of four. And, most of all, I want to know that you’ll still be here tomorrow. And the next day. And for you to know that I will be here too, for you, for Isabella, the little ones. I love you all and could not bear to lose you.”

Biniamino pulled her to him. She didn’t care if Isabella might think to scold them or how scandalized Mrs.Gordon would be. Margaret sat across Biniamino’s lap, his head pressed to her shoulder, her arms about him, and his around her as they mourned. There would be plenty of time to worry for the thoughts of others in the morning. For now, they took what comfort there was to find, in each other’s solid, warm presence.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Four days after burying Sarah and her children, they gathered together once more to place the Colonel to his wife’s left. Mrs.Gordon and Ms.Schmidt were inconsolable, neither woman having stopped crying since they learned of the Colonel’s self-inflicted demise. Mr.Masterson looked so pale and stiff that Biniamino was sure the man had aged twenty years over the past two weeks. The nurse, Ms.Estravados, had been informed only to leave the country. He supposed after what had happened to Daisy, the woman was entitled to disappear.

Mr.Carson, new to the household, stood beside Biniamino, his hands shaking as they held his cap. Isabella had not come, with Carolos and Marianna both sick. Biniamino looked over to see Margaret crouched before Sarah’s headstone. It had just been placed the day before and now Mrs.Palver and her sister would be picking one out for the Colonel, as he had no family left to see to his affairs.

While everyone else began to drift back towards their cars, the rare sunny autumn day at odds with the grief they all shared, Biniamino moved to stand behind Maggie. She was placing a new pink rose at the headstone, talking so quietly that Biniamino could not make out much of her speech. When she stood, her eyes were so sad that it broke his heart anew.

“I should have insisted on staying with him.”, she said quietly.

“If he had not done it that night, I’m sure he would have just waited till he was alone. It would be impossible to watch him every minute, of every day, for the next fifty years.”

Reaching to cup her face in one hand, his other drifting to hold one of hers, he looked into her dark eyes and pleaded.

“Carino, please, do not torture your soul this way? My priest, back home, he would say that you could only save the people who swam towards the boat- not those who swam into the storm. The Colonel, he was swimming for the storm. There was nothing any of us could have done to save him.”

She nodded, though he was not sure she was completely convinced. Biniamino held her tucked closely to his side as they made their way back to the car. He did not drive them straight home. Neither were ready. He quietly followed a path out to an overlook of sorts. It would allow them somewhere to sit a while, before returning home for the afternoon.

Maggie leaned, sliding across the bench seat to lean her head against Biniamino’s shoulder. One warm hand drifted to his knee, her other held the little purse she had carried to the cemetery last week and again today.

“Meeno?”

“Hm?”

“I need to go back to work soon.”

He was not sure why she was bringing this up now. He feared she was preparing him for her to disappear.

“Could you stay till Monday?”

“Of course. Monday would allow me plenty of time to train the two new horses, for the show at Christmas.”

He nodded.

“Will you come back to Boston?”, he asked, fearful of her answer.

She let out a long breath. Biniamino felt his chest constrict.

“Not too soon, but someday, yes.”

He would take it. It was not a dismissal or a promise, but it would suffice. In time, when they both had some perspective and a chance to heal, she would return.

He drove them up to the overlook, a view of the ocean spread out before them in the midday light. It was cold and barely warmer in the car where they were sheltered from the wind. Biniamino turned off the car and wrapped an arm around Maggie’s shoulders, holding her closely. There was no telling when he might next be able to hold her like this, again.

For a long while, neither spoke. Meeno held Maggie, her hand remained on his knee and her head on his shoulder. The waves came in and rolled back away. Boats and birds passed them by, yet neither of them moved.

As the sun fell a bit lower in the sky, he felt Maggie shift a bit. She looked up at him as she sat up in the seat. There was almost a small smile on her lips.

“Leannan, I’m not going to disappear on you. I swear it. I cannot promise that I will be able to return to Boston in the next few weeks, or even for Christmas this year. I know I came last year, however… I can’t be sure I could get through it this year. If I can, I will come. Please, do not get your hopes up?”

He nodded, reaching to push a stray strand of her midnight black hair away from her face. It framed her pale face so well. He loved her hair, though if she were to sheer it all, he would love her still.

“I can wait for you, Maggie. And… I could come see you at Christmas, if you like?”

“We could try that. I’ve a guest room at the Foreman’s House.”

He smiled for the first time in several days.

“I would very much like to be a guest in your guest room, carino.”

She leaned, pressing her forehead to his.

“We should get back, before Isabella worries.”, she almost whispered.

“Yes.”

Meeno leaned, pressing a gentle kiss to her shapely lips.

“If we are gone too soon, she will set the police after us.”, he tried to joke.

~*~*~*~*~

Margaret had been back to Mr.Henderson’s for two weeks. Every day the same. She woke early, put up her hair, readied herself, dressed, worked till she was so tired she could barely stand, returned to her house, bathed, ate a simple dinner that was whatever the cook had fixed for the hands- but reheated in her stove, then she slept until it was time to start again. Every day.

On the fourth day, Biniamino had called while she was away though he left a message with the cook, Mark, to please return his call as soon as was convenient. On the seventh day, he had called just as she returned from work and Margaret had declined the call, asking the operator to please say she had been out.

A letter from Biniamino had arrived on the tenth day. Margaret let it lay on her dresser for two days before she was able to open it. Part of her had been fearful that Biniamino would have some terrible news. Mr.Masterson having a heart attack or Mrs.Gordon having a stroke. She had feared it enough to dodge him for nearly two weeks before, at last, she opened the letter.

It was not what one might have called a Newsie Letter. He spoke of Carlos and Marianna feeling better, Isabella’s fussing over him, Elaina asking of Maggie and her horses, of a large sale at the dealership, and of both Ms.Schmidt and Mr.Masterson having found new employers in Europe. He asked how Margaret was doing, asking if she had received the message that he had tried to call her the week prior.

The eleventh night, she had been combing her hair for bed when the phone rang. She answered, the operator explaining it was a call from Biniamino Marquez of Boston, for Margaret Byrnes of Ireland. She accepted the call, only to end up crying when Meeno asked her why she had not answered his calls or returned them after reading his letter, that he had been worried for her. At the end of their call, he had given one simple promise.

“I’m coming, carino. I’m coming to you.”

Which was how she came to be sitting on her front steps, waiting for the headlights of a car she knew well. Meeno’s prized automobile. Gleaming black with new tires, a well-cared for interior, polished steering wheel, and bright headlamps. She knew he took great pride in his vehicle. It made her think of how many of those back home, cared for their horses, dogs, and buggies.

The bright light from twin headlights drew her attention to the end of the long lane leading up to the guest house and the Foreman’s house. Margaret stood, waving a little as Biniamino drew closer. No sooner had he parked the car, than he was flying out of it, meeting Margaret at the stairs to wrap her in a snug embrace. He smelled of cigars, leather polish, and his sister’s cooking.

His mustache tickled her neck as he leaned his face in. She rubbed a hand up and down his back. In truth, she had been better the last day and a half, and she was sure she had gotten over the worst wave in the storm of her emotions. Though, knowing he was out there, standing by the lighthouse, had been no small jolt for her to remain moving forward.

“Come inside.”, she bid quietly.

“I need to get my bag, and then I will be straight behind you.”

She smiled as he rushed back to the car, retrieving his small suitcase, then quickly walking back up to her. Maggie held out a hand to him. Meeno took it without hesitation, a smile spreading wide across his handsome face, adding more pink to his already cold-brightened cheeks.

Inside, he looked around a bit. The kitchen, den, study, and a small bathroom lay on the first floor, a single staircase leading up to where the master bedroom with an en suite bath, and a second guest room, lay above the main floor. It was all hers, so long as she worked for Mr.Henderson.

“Will your employer be upset by your having a male guest staying, without a chaperone?”

She shook her head.

“He claims that he is not the Morality Police Enforcement. As long as employees conduct themselves professionally while at work, they do their work well, and are quiet about their personal lives and dealings, he has offers no rebuke or fuss.”

Biniamino nodded, his eyes still wandering about. He was surprised at some things, though less at others. There were sketches of horses everywhere, as well as some of the sea, little farms he knew enough to guess were places she remembered from Ireland, a little cottage beside a church made of stone, and some of an old dog walking proudly beside the large draw horses.

There was a good deal of wood, the floor and the furniture, with blue curtains pulled over large windows. Her kitchen was clean and her den lived-in, with one of her jackets thrown over the back of a couch, her muddy boots near the door, another pair of muddy shorter boots beside the tall pair, the little pot-belly stove warming the space, a kettle on for tea, and two cups on saucers sitting at the ready with spoons, cream, and sugar beside them.

The few things that surprised him were the crochet blanket of pink with pale yellow and purple flowers in the pattern of it, that lay over the back of the one armchair. A few photographs of her beside large horses and Mr.Henderson on the other side in a couple with her wearing skirts in some of the photos. He was surprised at the lack of books, as the few times he got a glance inside of her room at the Armstrongs’, there had been books laid everywhere.

“Where are your books?”, he asked before he stopped to think.

Maggie took no offense, smiling with a breathy little laugh.

“In my room, on every flat surface, including stacks of them atop a table at the foot of my bed and another on the end tables on either side of my bed. If I get any more books, I’ll need to start storing them in the guest room.”

Biniamino had already made a mental note, when he began Margaret’s driving lessons, that their future home would need a library for all her books and plenty of space in the den and hallways for her sketches. He had no doubt, should she agree to marry him, that they would need a house with a library.

“Perhaps you need more bookshelves?”, he suggested.

“Let’s take your bag upstairs and let you get out of that heavy coat, then we can warm you up with some tea by the fire.”

He smiled, leaning closer to press a soft kiss to her slightly chapped lips.

“That sounds wonderful, mi corino.”

“Then let’s to it.”, she brightly said as she lead him upstairs.

He put his bag beside the bed, hanging his coat in the wardrobe, setting his shoes under the bed to find Margaret had gotten slippers for him to wear. They were brown, tan, and black plaid with the softest flannel liner. They were wonderfully comfortable and warm over his cold feet, before he removed his suit jacket, and followed her back down to the kitchen. He noticed that she had kicked off her own slippers just before she went into her kitchen, with it’s gleaming solid wood floor.

“Will your feet not get cold?”, he asked.

She shrugged as she poured the tea.

“I think after running around so much at home, back in Ireland, without shoes or socks on, I’ve grown accustomed to the feeling of a cold, hard floor beneath my feet. I also detest shoes.”

He nodded, taking the offered cup of tea.

“I remember you and Isabella discussing that once, before. That while she loved shoes and would have a whole closet full if she could ever forget how frivolous that was, you said that to you they were a required item and not something you enjoyed at all.”

Maggie nodded as she walked with him to the couch, letting him tug her blue, green, and gray blanket from the back to lay over their legs. She smiled before handing him back his tea.

“Thank you.”

She smiled, “Welcome”

It felt good, he thought. To sit beside her, under a blanket he recognized as a gift her grandfather had sent her the Christmas previous, sipping hot tea, in front of a warm fire. It was evenings such as this, that he had envisioned for them when he first began to think of courting Margaret.

“You seem contemplative?”

Biniamino offered no argument.

“I was thinking of when we first met. You were so fiery and yet… so unsure. You were new to Boston, to America, as I once was. Yet, you were so sure of yourself- that you would succeed and that you would make the most of your time here, and would pursue what you love without apology. I wish I had been more like that when I first came here.”

“If you had, we might never have met.”

He could not disagree with her logic.

“True. When I met you, at first, all I could think was how confident you were. How assured. I think you captured my heart at that train station, Maggie.”

“My grandfather used to talk about how there were some people who you loved before you met them, and that when you finally were brought together, it was hard to explain because it was as if you had just been looking for an old friend or lover, and found them housed within a perfect stranger.”

“He is a wise man.”

“Sometimes. Other times, he has had a few too many nips at the bottle and has too tempting an audience.”

Meeno chuckled at her teasing. He hoped, someday, to meet her family back in Ireland. They sounded warm and wonderful by her descriptions.

“How long will you stay?”, Maggie asked tentatively, hiding part of her face behind her cup and averting her eyes.

“I had told Isabella I expected to be gone three days. I could stay a bit longer?”

“If you stay much longer, Meeno, I fear I might not allow you to leave.”

“Maggie, I..,”, she stopped him with a hand to his forearm, her head shaking gently.

Biniamino understood. She might have slipped and let her feelings be totally clear, however they were not in a place where they were ready to make such big decisions. Biniamino would not ask her anything now. Not with their friends in fresh graves and both of them just getting back into the rhythm of daily life.

There was also that Biniamino also needed to wait to hear back from a letter he had written to a particular patriarch in Ireland and that patriarch’s daughter, regarding a question he wished to ask Margaret. He would not propose to her until he received a response. It was only proper for a gentleman to seek his beloved’s family’s blessing before bending knee to officially ask. He would offer Margaret no less than what was proper.

Together, they sat and finished their tea, snuggled closely on the couch. It was nearly midnight before they both agreed that they ought to retire. Biniamino put folded the blanket and put it away as Margaret returned the tea cups and such to the kitchen. They walked up together, Margaret in the lead, holding Biniamino’s hand as she lead him up the stairs.

They stopped at her door, with Biniamino smiling to her. She had let her hair down at some point in the evening and is fell in faint waves from the braid it had been in all day. It looked so soft, it was all he could do to restrain himself from reaching out to run his fingers over the loose ends.

“Pleasant dreams, carino.”

“Codladh samh, mo leannan.”, she whispered with a thickness to her accent that made him puddy in her hands as she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Sleep tight.”, she added with a smirk as she disappeared into her room.

Biniamino smiled, shaking his head tiredly as he turned and head to the guest room. He stayed the full three days, each of them spent beside Margaret with her introducing him to some of the men and many of the horses, one night he was even invited to join she and some of the senior staff to dine with Mr.Henderson.

Her boss good naturedly asked a few questions of Biniamino, though he took no offense. The man seemed to genuinely care for Margaret and clearly took a grandfatherly interest in making sure no one intended her any harm. The Cook, the head Maid, and the Butler all shared this same affection and protectiveness for Margaret. It made Biniamino happy to see it.

He made two more trips to see her over the next several months, with frequent letters and calls between them. They were healing and they were growing closer, even as their lives were so busy. Then, one night, Biniamino received a most curious letter from Mrs.Arden. An invitation. He called Margaret, learning she had received a nearly identical letter from Mrs.Arden.

“Will you take her up on it?”, he asked.

There was a pause.

“Yes.”

“Knowing what it will mean, you say ‘yes’ to this?”

“I do.”

He let out a long sigh. He had only recently received his responses from her grandfather and mama. This was not the circumstance he pictured for going to Europe. He had envisioned them going to meet her family, not this.

“Biniamino?”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to accept?”

He debated a moment, if he should go or not. At last, he made his choice.

“I will go. For Daisy, Sarah, little Joseph, and for the Colonel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Codladh samh, mo leannan = Sweet dreams, my darling/lover


	4. End of the Line (and the Start of a New Adventure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poirot's investigation, Mrs.Arden's confession, the fallout, and the start of a new chapter for Biniamino Marquez.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Translations all according to Google/Bing
> 
> Oiche mhaith mo ghra. = Goodnight my love/darling in Gaelic  
> Buenas noches mi amor = Goodnigh my live/darling in Spanish
> 
> Te amo= I love you in Spanish  
> Ta gra agam duit= I love you in Gaelic
> 
> Triggers: Basically everything from the end of the movie (Mrs.Arden turning the gun on herself/etc.) as well as a couple in a foreign country sharing a bed and raw emotions in the aftermath of what happened on the train.

Istanbul – 1934

Biniamino walked along, the young bellhop carrying most of Biniamino’s luggage through the busy, bustling, beautiful train station. He had been to some amazing places in his life, yet the architecture that was taken for granted in Istanbul was among the most dazzling he had seen. The young bellhop worked to keep up to Biniamino, so he reminded himself to take shorter steps as if his nieces were walking with him.

“Sorry, my friend. I am excited to see this Orient Express, and the views I have been promised are to be found from her windows.”

The younger man smiled with a quick nod.

“It is not a problem, sir.”

They entered the area where they would soon be loading from, and Biniamino could not help but stop to look about. The vaulted ceilings and sturdy pillars holding it all up, were displays of such exquisite craftsmanship. As he was following the line of arches, his gaze fell to a familiar figure.

Walking from the bright outdoors, she cut a fine silhouette. Heeled boots polished to a military sheen, solid black slacks that did more to hint at than show off the figure beneath, a matching suit jacket highlighting a curved figure and broad shoulders, a sapphire satin blouse set against milk-white skin of a slender neck, ladies’ fedora fashionably askew, and standing half a head taller than most of the men in the area. Biniamino could not help but stare a bit.

Margaret looked up, catching his gaze. Despite the warnings from Mrs.Arden, she smiled back at Biniamino. For a few seconds, neither looked away. Biniamino was about to turn back to his bellhop to inquire of the time, when another passenger’s shoulder connected with Biniamino. The other passenger also knocked into the young bellhop, nearly taking him off his feet if Biniamino had not managed to catch the young man’s wrist.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Not at all.”

They walked off towards the train. Within five minutes time, they had reached the loading area and the young bellhop had handed Biniamino’s luggage off to the men on the train to be put away in his cabin. Biniamino turned, handing several smaller bills to the young man. The kid seemed quite surprised at the amount.

“Why… thank you sir!”

Biniamino also tipped the other young man who had just handed off his luggage on the train.

“Here’s a tip for you, pal.”

“Thank you, Mr.Marquez! I didn’t even carry your luggage?”

Biniamino smiled broadly, remembering not only the Plan but also the days when such jobs would have been a dream for he and Isabella.

“Oh, I had a good week. We celebrate when fortune smiles, and we share the good fortune.”, and he added as he walked off towards the passenger car, “Remember to say nice things about us Americans, huh?”

Hercule Poirot walked up to the train, noticing again the American man with the sharp mustache and the big grin. He seemed a charming, jovial fellow yet Poirot could see there were many more layers to the American businessman. Not the least of which had been the look he had given the masculinely dressed woman who had appeared almost as last-minute as Poirot and Bouc had been. Poirot had been hoping for a quiet respite during this journey yet it seemed Fate wished it to be more interesting than relaxing.

His journey to the unlucky #3 cabin, saw him encountering several of his fellow passengers from the husband-hunting American woman to his bunky- Mr.McQueen. He could not say he looked forward to the company of any of them, so far. Bouc would be far preferable company. At least Bouc knew when to leave Poirot to his books and desserts.

Glancing out the window as he undid his coat, he had expected to see no more passengers boarding. Instead, he saw the woman in her masculine attire, drawing her own luggage behind her on a small cart. She was tall, confident, and everything about her manner suggested someone accustomed to giving orders and being taken seriously in what was doubtlessly an unusual trade for a woman. Poirot almost looked forward to seeing the trouble she would give Bouc.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Orient Express – There Has Been A Murder

Poirot knew that everyone had been in the dining car, making it simple enough to discuss the events and to begin his investigation. Bouc began, clumsily trying to explain that there had been a murder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to, um…It appears that our bad luck has worsened. That is…”

Poirot came right out with it, “A passenger has died on the train.”

He looked, taking in the responses. The Professor at his left, sitting across from the angry, reclusive Count. Neither seemed particularly bothered, though neither had much mingled with the other passengers. McQueen at the first table on the right, across from the Butler, seemed most affected- almost going white as the proverbial sheet. The Missionary Nurse and the young Governess appeared somewhat shocked, though no more than if they heard a sad story on the news.

Mrs.Hubbard and the tall, suited-woman were both completely calm. The American Businessman, who was seated with Dr.Arbuthnot, was not terribly surprised. Poirot supposed the Doctor may have already let slip why he had been called away earlier. And lastly, the Princess and her companion were only slightly upset by the information.

“Monsieur Ratchet.”, Poirot added to answer the unasked question. It yielded interesting results.

“Looks like they got him after all.”, McQueen muttered.

“You assume he was killed?”, Poirot inquired.

The lawyer stammered, “No, no. I just…mean he was in perfectly good health. He had his enemies, that’s all.”

“Indeed, he did. He was murdered.”

The Missionary prayed, the Businessman hung his head a bit, and the Governness’s eyes went wide.

“Good God. Murder, here?”

“Alas, madame.”

“God rest his soul.”, the Missionary woman added, her hand drawn to clutch the cross at her neck, near her heart.

Mrs.Hubbard’s face grew hard, her voice angry.

“Someone was rummaging around my cabin in the middle of the night. Nobody would believe me.”

The Princess, despite the clear shock and dismay on her companion’s face, seemed more annoyed than anything.

“What is going on?”, she asked.

“As we are snowbound, I have elected to take the case and find for my friend, Monsieur Bouc, the criminal.”

“And why you?”, asked the Professor from the front of the car.

“My name is Hercule Poirot and I am probably the greatest detective in the world. I will speak to all of you in time. For the moment, I must recommend you remain in your compartments with the doors locked.”

Mrs.Hubbard growled, “I feel like a prisoner here.”

“It is for your own safety. If there was a murder, then there was a murderer. The murderer is with us on the train now.”

Poirot took in their responses, all non-verbal in nature. McQueen continued to fret, his nervousness causing a sweat to erupt over his blanched face. Mrs.Hubbard, the Princess, the Missionary, and the Butler all seemed more annoyed at the inconvenience than upset at the death or being trapped with a murderer in their midst. The Doctor and the young Governess both avoided eye contact with Poirot, and each other. Interesting.

The Princess’s companion with the tastes of a trained chef, pulled a kerchief to her mouth, visibly shaking. The Professor and the Count both seemed quiet and mostly unaffected though the Count never turned to look back toward Bouc or Poirot. Interesting. The woman with the masculine attire spared a glance towards the Doctor and the Businessman’s table, and while the Doctor appeared to pay her no notice, the Businessman barely caught her eye before ducking his head sharply. Also, interesting.

~*~*~*~*~

Poirot had his clues and now it was time to engage the passengers directly. To interview the suspects one by one. McQueen was an obvious start. He knew the victim best and had been close at hand. Mrs.Hubbard with her brief interaction with the murdered party, and her claim of someone hiding in her cabin- yet she had not screaming for help from her bunky or attendant.

Mr.Masterman also knew the victim and was in his employ, which would allow him access. The Professor was clearly lying about his reason for being on the train, which could mean he had come with a target in mind. Then, there was the American businessman who seemed to make a great show of his jovial nature as if trying to use it as a blanket to cover something he wished to keep hidden.

The Missionary nurse was next, though she had nothing obvious leap out to link her to Ratchet/Cassetti- though that did not clear her in Poirot’s mind. Many times the least-obvious suspect had been, in fact, the killer. Next, the woman in her masculine attire.

Poirot had taken each person off to where they would be off-kilter in some way, to ask his questions. McQueen to stand beside the scene of the crime, Mr.Masterman with his back to Bouc and a serving room, Ms.Debenham would be outdoors in the chilly air, and for Ms.Byrne- the very quiet dining car with the staff sent away for the moment to allow privacy. He had noted the young woman appeared ill at ease in quieter surroundings, seeking out noise at all times.

Gesturing for her to sit in one of the chairs much as he had for Mr.Masterman, he left Bouc at the door at the opposite end of the car, to ensure they were not disturbed. Ms.Byrne sat with the practiced grace of someone who often is in charge of a meeting rather than taking one. Her ink black hair was tucked into a tasteful French braid with the length pinned to the nape of her neck, her make-up nearly non-existent, and her pale hands wrapped around a mug of strong tea.

“May I first begin with a simple question?”

She nodded as she put her cup back down, her dark green eyes focused sharply. He had learned of her profession and could see how she was accustomed to judging horse flesh and businessmen in a quick meeting.

“What is the color of your dressing gown?”

She arched a dark eyebrow at him.

“I do not own one. I wear a man’s robe- black, with a pale blue pinstripe, worn with the matching sleep suit.”

“Why would a lady wear such a thing?”, he could guess though he wished to hear her answer and see how she took such a question. It would give him more insight.

“It is so hard to find anything long enough, at my height, unless I shop from a men’s catalogue, Mr.Poirot. My mother has the same problem, though she has employed a tailor to handle the issue for her.”

Poirot nodded, jotting a note more for effect than need.

“You do not employ a tailor? You seem of means to afford such.”

Ms.Byrne shrugged a shoulder. That was not a gesture most ladies would employ.

“She was raised to be the Lady of the Manor, I was the spoiled, over-indulged granddaughter. I do not know how to be such a lady as her.”

Poirot pursed his lips, nodding slightly. He wondered if she realized her accent thickened when she mentioned her family back in Ireland.

“I suspect you prefer to act in a way that shocks those whose presence you prefer to avoid, and inspires admiration from those you would enjoy the company of. Such as Mr.Marquez?”, he eased, attempting to see what, if any effect the trigger had.

Again, the eyebrow arched on the left side.

“I beg your pardon, Detective Poirot?”

“I am not a police inspector, it is simply Poirot, Ms.Byrne. I saw the two of you at the train station. The look with which Mr.Marquex fixed you was not the look one gives an attractive stranger. It was the look of a lover.”

Ms.Byrne leaned back in her seat, smiling as her arms moved to rest atop the arms of the seat. She almost appeared like a cat who had happened upon an injured mouse.

“Why, Poirot, I do believe you are implying that Mr.Marquez and I have been playing patty-fingers? I assure you, Mr.Poirot, I am a good Catholic girl. I may wear pants, occasionally swear, and rarely darken the door of a Church of late, but I still hold to some of my grandfather’s rules of proper conduct for young ladies.”

She glanced back at Bouc, who had been paying far more attention to this interview than he had Masterson’s or the Professor’s. Poirot suspected it was because this woman had not been charmed by Bouc and was an attractive, young, wealthy female.

“I think your friend in the back, is far more likely to engage in such a sin, than myself. Although, you’re thinking that I could land such a prominent American businessman is a compliment, I suppose.”

Poirot smiled slightly. This woman clearly was a master of keeping the world at a distance and her own business private.

“I suppose, in your business Mr.Byrne, you are accustomed to older, wealthy men prying into your personal affairs.”

The young woman let out a long breath, some of her amusement from earlier, dissolving with the action.

“I am, indeed.”

Poirot pretended to make a note.

“How long have you worked for your employed, in Boston?”

Margaret tilted her head as her grandfather did when he was trying to recall an important detail that had escaped him. It allowed her the pretense of considering something.

“Just under four years, I think. My anniversary of being hired is probably coming up soon. Seems like just yesterday.”

The Detective made a note. Margaret could see just well enough through the reflection of the spotless window, to know he was mostly making little hash marks and the like, not a real note. He probably was not as-fooled as she would like him to be by her act.

“And, before that, who did you work for?”

“My grandfather. I was his personal secretary, of sorts.”

“And when Mr.Cassetti was murdered, where were you?”

“I was in the lavatory, washing up. I had forgotten how trains lacked privacy to clean one’s self.”

Poirot noted to himself that she had been sleeping in the kitchen car earlier, before the murder, when he had been walking around to stretch his legs. He had wondered why she would not have gone to her cabin. He also noted that she seemed quite particular about her appearance. Even someone not as ‘fixy’ as her bunky, Mrs.Hubbard, she was very clean with her hair and clothes just-so.

“Why wouldn’t you sleep and clean up in your cabin?”

Again, the one-shouldered shrug.

“Mrs.Hubbard is a beautiful woman but… she snores. Not the quiet, gentle rumble my grandfather had. Hers are snorts and sudden, noisy growls in her throat. I couldn’t sleep, so I came out to the dining car and ended up falling asleep to the sounds of the staff in the kitchen. My bedroom was right above the kitchen at my grandfather’s house, so the clatter of plates and stirring of pots is a lullaby to me.”

Poirot could understand that. He also made a note that she appeared to have grown up with her mother and grandfather, no mention of a father, husband, or the like as yet.

“And you are sure you never met anyone on this train, before we disembarked from Istanbul, Ms.Byrne?”

The cat-like grin returned.

“It is a small world, Mr.Poirot. I suppose I could have passed one of them on a London street some years ago, but I doubt that counts as really knowing someone.”

She was aware he was not entirely fooled by her, she could tell. She had the tact not to call him on it and the cunning to give him the proverbial wink to let him know she was aware he was not buying her act. This woman was willful and clever, yet Poirot suspected that more than a grandfather’s doting or years of handling business affairs for an affluent relation, were enough to explain her manner. Her guardedness came from another source and her playfulness suggested she was someone used to working her way around rules rather than outright breaking them.

“The interview is concluded, Ms.Byrne. If you like, you may follow Bouc back to your cabin. I will wait for my next interview.”

She nodded, rising with her cup of tea in hand.

“Mr.Poirot, I understand you must do these interviews and try to elicit responses from everyone in an effort to make them let slip with some vital clue or accidental confession. I take no offense at the questions or implications.”

“Thank you, Ms.Byrne. You do seem a sensible woman.”

She smiled, more genuinely than she had thus-far.

“Most would disagree with that statement of me, Mr.Poirot. But I thank you all the same.”

Looking up at Bouc, she let out a smaller sigh. Poirot fought the urge to chuckle.

“Well, Train Master, it seems you are to escort me back to Mrs.Hubbard and likely return with the next suspect. Come, let us away!”

Poirot waited until they had left the car before he allowed himself to smile slightly. He had not even needed to turn and look at his friend, to know Bouc’s jaw had dropped as he rose to his feet, or that Bouc had muttered under his breath as they walked back to Ms.Byrne and Mrs.Hubbard’s cabin. Poirot considered these new pieces of information. Mrs.Hubbard could have realized her bunky was gone and that had been why she hesitated to call out. In her confused, half-slumbering mind, she may have thought it to be Ms.Byrne at first. And when she recalled her bunky had left, she may have worried of being alone and elected to stay very still and feigned sleep until the intruder was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, following the attempted escape by McQueen and later the near-fatal stabbing of Mrs.Hubbard, Biniamino slipped off from his cabin. Mr.Masterman was snoring soundly in his bunk, covering the noise Biniamino might have made with his escape. He had a need of a cup of milk and something sweet to accompany it, before he might find slumber.

His sister accused him all their lives of having an incurable sweet tooth, and of being too much trouble to get to bed of a night. He could not disagree with her on either count. He was sure the kitchen staff would be the only others awake at this hour in any of the club, bar, or dining cars. As such, he did bother to put his tie or pocket watch on, slipping his jacket over his arms as he headed down the hall.

Biniamino passed a few of the attendants, nodding a hello as he went, until he reached the final car of the train. It was rather quiet since it was sitting still in the snow, giving an eerie quality to the night as he stepped into the car. With the two staff members who were cleaning glasses and polishing silverware, sat Margaret in a back corner. She was almost curled into the barrel chair, with her shoes kicked off to reveal her stockinged feet tucked halfway under her bum and her temple pressed against the wall.

Looking over, he noticed the staff seemed a bit concerned. Perhaps they thought she was drunk or that she was going to have some sort of fit about being sent back to her cabin, with a killer on the loose. Or, they feared being witness to something Poirot would interrogate them about later.

Biniamino moved to crouch in front of the chair, quietly. Gentle, so as not to jolt her awake, he reached for her elbow. She felt cool to the touch. That was unusual for her, though she was without her jacket or hat, her shoes laying nearby.

“Margaret? Margaret?”, he called softly as the two barmen busied themselves with enough noise to politely cover the quiet tone Biniamino was using.

“Margaret, wake up?”

Her right eye opened first, only halfway. Then her left opened and she looked about, her brow scrunched up as she seemed to realize where she was.

“Oh, Meeno. Where are we?”

“Still on the train. Last car.”

“Oh… OH!”, she sat up abruptly, her eyes wide and her hands moving up as if ready to keep someone away from her.

Biniamino held up his hands, keeping his tone quiet and even as he sought to meet her eyes.

“Margaret? Margaret, please? You’re safe. It’s just us and the barkeeps.”

She looked around for a second, then settled back down. Biniamino moved, tugging her hands to get her to stand up. He carefully reached for her shoes and she stopped him.

“I’m not going back to my cabin.”

“What if Poirot and his man find you here?”

“They already are aware I’ve been sleeping away from my cabin. I just… can’t, with Mrs.Hubbard.”

He understood. He too, had trouble even meeting the gaze of the woman who had brought them all together for this purpose. She had lost so much more than any of them and yet here she was, still standing, still strong. Even Mr.Masterman had made brief mention of the guilt he felt in her presence.

“Come, we’ll sit on the bench a while.”

He looked over to the bar keepers.

“Would you still have some tea available?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can we have two cups then?”

“How would you like them?”

“A little sugar in mine, some cream in the lady’s.”

They nodded, both men quickly going to work on the order while Biniamino guided Margaret to sit on the padded bench, across from the bar. As she curled a bit, he slipped off his jacket and settled it over her shoulders. He did not imagine her snuggling closer into his jacket, or that her nose discreetly sniffed at the collar.

“Thank you, but won’t you get cold?”

“I’ve layers of clothing and my wool vest, I am well, carino.”

She smiled, then turned to thank the men as the tea arrived. Once the two barkeepers were back to busily cleaning and tidying, she looked back to Biniamino.

“What if Poirot and Bouc come in, and find you having tea with me, calling me such an endearment and knowing how I take my tea? He may detect something and this will all be ruined? That is, if he isn’t already suspicious.”

“He is too busy with Bouc now, collecting information about the crime, and if I were asked, I will claim I was in need of some tea and a sweet something, and that I came here and found you all alone and thought you might prefer some company in light of recent events.”

She smiled. His logic was not wrong. No one would think it rude or improper for a man to check on a lady alone, after a murder, while trapped in a stranded train. And so they sat a while, quietly sipping their tea and just being in each other’s presence.

“What will you do, when all of this is over?”, he asked her quietly.

Margaret smiled.

“I was thinking of going back to Ireland, for a few days at least, to see my ma and my grandfather. You?”

“I just want to go home. I wish nothing more than to see Isabella and the children. To know the four of them are safe and content, blissfully unaware of what has gone on with me here.”

She nodded, understanding. She wished they did not have two pairs of eyes on them, so she could lean against his shoulder and wrap her arms around Biniamino. As it stood, offering his jacket was the action of a concerned gentleman to a lady on a very cold, drafty car.

“Margaret?”

She glanced back up to him from her tea.

“Yes?”

“After you’ve done your visiting… what then?”

Her smile was warm enough to make Biniamino forget the snow outside and the frost across the glass.

“I had thought of the future, of perhaps turning my attention to more than horses and travel plans.”

He reached, gently catching her hand where his jacket hid it, softly rubbing his thumb across the backs of her knuckles as he smiled. He truly did love her. More than he could say in Spanish or English.

“You really should go back to your cabin, carino.”

She let out a sigh.

“I suppose. It was much easier to sleep out here when the train was still running. Now, the barkeepers do not make enough noise to settle my restless mind.”

Biniamino nodded, recalling how ill she slept when the Armstrong house had been silent as a church, and when she had slept at his home and been restless without the noises she remembered in her childhood with a bedroom overtop the kitchen.

“Come, I’ll walk you. And, before you ask, I will tell Poirot you seemed to sleepy to trust you to not walk out the wrong door and fall as McQueen did earlier.”

She nodded as she made a face.

“That is actually more possible than I care to admit.”

He slid her shoes closer and waited as she put them on, likely only to protect her stockings on the journey back, than because she cared to have shoes on again. He knew how much she hated wearing shoes if she wasn’t outdoors. Once she was back in her shoes, they stood up and Biniamino walked with her, thanking the barkeepers before they exited the car.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was clear they were all good as caught. Bouc and some of the attendants lead them all off the train with a warning they would be outside a while and to be well-bundled. Margaret had pulled her leather duster on overtop a heavy sweater, laced up her boots, and shoved her hat on as she was walking down the steps of the train. The Count and his wife were ahead of her, with the Count curled around his fragile wife, holding a thick blanket around Helena.

Margaret looked to where they were being led off. The mouth of a tunnel, where a long table had been assembled of shorter tables, with chairs placed so the occupants would have their back to a blocked tunnel and facing the stranded train. What a scene. A few little portable heaters of sort, were being placed around the tables to ensure the passengers and attendants did not have to fear frostbite even at such temperatures.

The Princess and her Ms.Schmidt were behind Margaret, though she noticed the two dogs had been left aboard. She was glad of that as she would fear the dogs might get sick or suffer pain in their paws from such biting cold. They were not huskies from Alaska, made for the rugged, frozen tundra.

Looking up, as they neared the tunnel, she took in the scene. McQueen and the former police officer-turned security, had been guided to sit at the far right-side of the table. Both looked somewhat miserable, though she figured McQueen was probably still feeling his fall he took earlier. The Count and Helena were seated next, a fur laid over her legs and the Count keeping her tucked into his side, a glare sent to anyone who dared come too close to Helena. Margaret was struck, once more, by how Helena had become so bad off since the funeral.

The Princess, Daisy’s godmother, and Ms.Schmidt sat next and almost center at the table. It had been good to see Ms.Schmidt, though it saddened Margaret to find her friend was not cooking in some nice house, with children and noise. Ms.Schmidt had been such a happy, warm soul at the Armstrong household.

Sitting front and center was the woman the staff and Poirot had known as Mrs.Hubbard, though the passengers all knew she was Mrs.Linda Arden, mother of Sarah Armstrong, grandmother to little Daisy and baby Joseph. She sat poised and calm, despite her injury and plan possibly spiraling out of control in the next half hour. Margaret could not believe how collected the woman was.

Dr.Arbuthnot and Mary were next to the left, with Mary looking upset and Dr.Arbuthnot’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. They had gone from smitten as Margaret recalled from Mary’s letters, to truly being in love with one another as plain as the noses on their faces. Mary had been a fairly new hire when Daisy went missing, having been there only a few months, and she had not attended the funeral as she had been visiting a relative in New York and was unable to get back in time due to the weather.

Mr.Masterman sat just as Mrs.Arden, calm and collected, as if there were nothing afoot and no danger to worry of. He had always been so unflappable. Even murder and the famous Poirot could not shake him. Then there was Biniamino and Pilar. Biniamino had ushered Pilar to sit next to Mr.Masterman, as she looked stricken.

Margaret moved directly to him, curling an arm around him as she sat beside him. Biniamino tucked her closely, almost crushing her a bit. Margaret didn’t mind. It was good not to have to hide anymore.

When he had seen Margaret stepping down from the train, he had moved to ensure Pilar moved over so Margaret could sit with him, by Pilar and Masterman. If they were all found out, there was no point in hiding he and Margaret’s relationship from the Detective and his friend, Bouc. If they were for the noose, he would steal every moment and every touch, that he could.

The Detective came out in a fury, his black coat whipping in the wintry wind. His hair was messy, a pistol in his right hand, staggering a bit compared to his formerly even walk. He also appeared to be tucking something under his right arm as he moved towards them all.

“You tell your lies, and you think no one will know. But there are two people who will know. Yes, two people. Your God, and Hercule Poirot.”, the man quietly started as he bared his gaze down on them all.

Biniamino found it too hard to listen intently, even if he really should have been rapt. He focused instead on Margaret and the cold. Her warmth seeping through all their combined layers, to thaw out his side, her rosy, soft cheek pressed against his neck. The feel of her leather jacket under his hand, the smell of her hair and the snow mingling in the air as he breathed in. Her grandfather might be able to save her, if he heard in time, once they were all arrested. Mrs.Arden had friends, the Count and Helena would be saved by his connections, and the Boston cop would likely be able to get away.

McQueen, Dr.Arbuthnot, and Biniamino were the most likely to swing for this crime. Masterson might be able to plead his health, or may not live long enough to see the end of the trial. Mary could be saved by Helena, the Princess and Ms.Schmidt would also be able to slip away, without incident. Biniamino did not wish to be parted from Margaret, Isabella, or the children, yet he knew this was always a possibility if they were caught.

After some reveal of his deductions, Mrs.Arden removed her hat and her wig. Margaret was shocked as she looked over at the woman. Mrs.Arden had aged years in the months since Cassetti had torn the Armstrongs from this world. Her golden mane had gone gray and ashen, her vibrant coloring replaced with a pale imitation.

“You’re an awfully clever man.”, she said to Poirot, who seemed almost ashamed as he looked away from her.

“A murder should have one victim. When Ratchett kills Daisy Armstrong, a dozen lives are broken, deformed, ended. They demand justice! Of all these wounded souls, we must finally answer, who among them is a killer? Who takes up the knife? The answer is…”, he trailed as he looked up and down the table.

“No single one of you could have done it. Nor any pair. It could only have been done by _all_ of you.”

Margaret felt Biniamino’s hand tighten the hold of hers, and she returned the gesture. This was it. The plan had failed. Poirot knew what they had done.

“Together. Even when the avalanche changes everything, as does the detective, plans must change. The kimono, the uniform. A remarkable improvisation, the Doctor who knows how to wound without killing. Each has their part to play.”

“It was my plan.”, Mrs.Arden stated, adamantly.

“I recruited them. I had Hardman track down Cassetti. I sent McQueen to work for him, and then Masterman. McQueen could arrange he travel on the day that Michel was on duty.”

“And then it was done.”, Poirot pronounced, “For the death of the innocent, a life for a life. Revenge.”

“No one should hang for this but me! IT WAS MY PLAN! Tell the police it was me, alone. There’s no life left in me anymore. They have a chance now.”, she said before looking to her surviving daughter, “Helena, I pray, has a chance. They can go live, find some joy somewhere. Let it end with me.”

Margaret felt tears in her eyes that had nothing to do with the cold. Watching this once vibrant, passionate, confident, bright star of a woman, rendered down to the empty, hollow, distraught shell that stood at the center of them now. It was as hard as standing by Sarah, Daisy, and Joseph’s graves.

“They’re not killers. They’re good people. They can be good again.”

“There was right, there was wrong. Now there is you. I cannot judge this. You must decide. You wish to go free, without punishment for your crime, then you must only commit one more.”, Poirot said before placing his pistol on the table, in easy reach of at least three of the passengers.

Margaret looked to Biniamino and Pilar, both of them, and Masterman, all looking around wildly. None of them knew what to make of this.

“I will not stop you.”

“You can’t let them kill you!”, Bouc argued.

“You give my body to the lake, and you walk away innocent at the station. You must silence me. Bouc can lie. I cannot.”, he quietly explained.

No one moved. Margaret was not sure anyone breathed.

“DO IT! ONE OF YOU!”

Mrs.Arden grabbed the gun. Helena screamed for her mother to stop.

“I already died with Daisy.”, Mrs.Arden uttered as she aimed directly for Poirot.

Margaret and Biniamino stood, ready to dive at Mrs.Arden. Cassetti had his death long-overdue. Poirot was another story.

Mrs.Arden quickly turned the gun on herself, resting the end of the barrel just under her chin. Helena and Mary screamed as she fired.

The gun was empty. There was no shot. Everyone stood frozen as Mrs.Arden crumbled, her tears bursting over.

Poirot walked away without a word. They were left with the realization that Poirot was letting them go. He would not have them charged. How he would do this was yet unknown. Somehow, in some way, he would ensure they all disembarked back to their lives, without a murder charge hanging about their necks like a hangman’s noose.

The Count and Helena moved to Mrs.Arden’s side while Margaret and Mary both moved to press closer to the men they had been forced to deny during the journey. Margaret clung to Biniamino’s lapels, keeping him close as he whispered things to her in his native tongue. She understood very little of it yet was glad to hear it all the same.

Once she was able to really breathe and think again, Margaret nodded to Mrs.Arden. Biniamino took the hint. Walking with her, they went to the older woman’s side as the Count and Helena moved back towards the train with everyone else.

“Mrs.Arden?”

“Yes, Ms.Byrne?”

“The last time I spoke to the Colonel, I asked him to allow me and Ms.Schmidt to stay with him, or to allow the driver to take him to a friend’s home for the night. I let him go back into that house, alone, when I should have insisted he not be alone. Please, Mrs.Arden, do not go off alone after this? Go visit your daughter, I’m sure she and the Count would be happy to have you stay a while with them. She needs her mother more now than I ever, I’d wager.”

Mrs.Arden nodded, a little color returning to her face though not much.

“Helena has said she wishes to rid herself of her habit of Barbital. She has asked me to come home with she and her husband, and he has suggested I could help him care for her as she recovers.”

“Please, Mrs.Arden, take them up on the offer? Your daughter still needs you. And, if I may… I think you need her, too.”

Mrs.Arden gave her a shaky smile.

“My dear, I think you are right.”

She looked over at Biniamino, giving him a strained smile, her hands still shaking as she shoved them into the pockets of her heavy coat.

“Mr.Marquez?”

He nodded.

“Look after this one. She’s a smart cookie.”

“I promise, Mrs.Arden.”

“Good.”

She nodded, then walked off, her son-in-law moving to keep one hand at the small of her back while his other arm was wrapped around Helena with all her blankets over her coat. Mr.Masterman, Pilar, the Princess, Ms.Schmidt, McQueen, Dr.Arbuthnot, Mary, and the Pinkerton detective had already headed back into the train with Bouc and everyone. Margaret turned to face Biniamino.

“Now what?”

He smiled.

“We get back on the train and then, after you’ve visited your family in Ireland and I’ve gone to a couple meetings Mrs.Arden arranged for me… We go home.”

Margaret nodded.

“Good.”

~*~*~*~*~

After the Detective had departed and they had all been spoken to by the local authorities, Bouc had explained that they would continue on the train for a couple hours until they reached the train’s final destination for this company of passengers. They arrived at nearly two in the morning, everyone weary from their journey. Margaret watched as some of the others departed, while she waited for her luggage to be brought off the train.

Mrs.Arden disembarked with the Count and Helena, with Helena tucked into her mother’s side and the Count a step behind them as if he were a protective gargoyle. Mr.Masterson left with Ms.Schmidt and the Princess, the two dogs walked by a bellman. Pilar came off alone, smiling over at Margaret before she moved to disappear into the crowd.

A warm hand pulled Margaret from her crowd-watching. Biniamino. Turning to look up at him, she found him looking more relaxed though still a bit worried.

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, smiling tiredly at her.

“Nothing, carino. Once we get our luggage, we ought to make our way to a hotel. The trains out of here are delayed, from the snow storm.”

She nodded.

“That is alright. I don’t think I would mind curling up in front of a fire in a lobby somewhere, with a blanket and a mug of hot tea. Or coffee. Or hot chocolate.”

His smile warmed a bit, though he still struck her as being tired.

“That sounds fine, indeed. Come, I see your luggage is coming down the ramp.”

They collected first her luggage, then Biniamino’s. They were guided to a pair of hotels, one smaller with a more humble décor, the other a grande thing full of glittering chandeliers and handles. Most of their fellow passengers had opted for the larger hotel. Margaret leaned to Biniamino’s side, gesturing with one hand to the crowd in the lobby of the larger hotel.

“Might we try the smaller hotel?”

Biniamino nodded, following half a step behind her as they waded through the narrow streets with people rushing to and from the train station. When they arrived in the smaller hotel’s lobby, a fire roared in the open hearth, warming the entire space.

“Hello!”, a young man behind the small counter greeted them, likely guessing they were American or European and English-speakers.

Biniamino moved first, reaching for the sign-in book.

“We will need a room for the night, sir.”

“Yes, sir. You and your wife are more than welcome. We have a room on the second floor and several on higher floors, including two on our 6th floor.”

“Any recommendations?”, Biniamino asked.

“The fifth floor has a fantastic view of the city at night, without the expense of the top floor. It is also warmer.”

“Then the fifth floor it is.”

Once he had signed them in, another young man came to collect their bags and take them up to their room. The man at the desk, Frederick, handed them a pair of keys for the room with a gold-colored tag hanging from each key, indicating their room number.

Margaret slid her key into her pocket, her left hand moving to hold Biniamino’s as they followed the bellhop to the elevator. The attendant smiled in greeting as their bellhop, Antonio, indicated for them to get in first. They followed the instruction, and were soon riding up in the elevator. Margaret had rarely been inside a building with an elevator and as such, found her eyes taking in every little detail. Biniamino just smiled.

Antonio led them off to their room, which was down the hall almost as far from the elevator as possible. Biniamino tipped the man while Margaret went to the windows to look out. Frederick had not exaggerated. The city seemed laid out at their feet, glowing warmly from all the lamps, fireplaces, and few electric lights.

Once they were alone, Biniamino moved over to join Margaret by the windows. He admired the view. It was rare that he left the Boston area, since opening his shop. Despite Mrs.Arden’s assurances that they would all go back to their lives after this train ride, Biniamino had not been so sure of that. The taking of a life had consequences. Even a life such as Cosetti’s.

“Why did you tell him we needed only the one room?”

“I’m sorry, carino. Would you have preferred your own room? I can go down and make the arrangements for me to move to a separate room.”

She shook her head, moving to face him. He loved how the light from the city below cast her in an amber light on her right side.

“I meant only to inquire as to _why_ you had done it, I did not mean to reprimand you.”

Biniamino reached, gently cupping her cheek in his hand.

“I missed you, mi carino.”

Her smile could have outshown Paris at night.

“I’ve missed you too, leannon.”

Biniamino could have danced. He had missed them being able to speak this way. He had especially missed hearing her favorite Gaelic endearment for him. He held her close, her cheek resting on his shoulder, her nose almost in his neck.

For a long while, neither of them moved. They just took in the sight of the beautiful city and the comfort of knowing they had come out on the other side of this, together. They were done with detectives, motives, alibis, and, at least for tonight, their grief and anger. They were just the two of them again.

Margaret wished she could just allow them to linger this way, all night. To ignore the world around them. There were questions her restless mind simply would not leave unasked. Biniamino must have sensed the change in her mood, his hold on her loosening a bit.

“What is on your mind?”

“Tomorrow, what… what will you do?”

“What do you mean, carino?”

“When we check out, what is your plan?”

“I have some meetings that Mrs.Arden arranged for me, for my cover and I suppose, as a way to compensate me for coming here. They should take a couple days. I had thought to return home after that. What of your plans?”

Margaret smiled, already picturing her grandfather’s house, with him in his study and her ma in the garden out back. It would be good to see them again.

“I thought I would visit my grandfather and ma, since it is not so hard to get to Ireland from here, compared to coming from Boston. I think a few days there would do me good.”

Biniamino seemed to grow stiff, his eyes looking anywhere but at her.

“Will you come back, for sure, after going home?”

Margaret reached, threading a hand through Biniamino’s hair, loose already from his hat and the wind outside. She preferred when his hair was loose, though she understood his desire to be fashionable when he was at work and such.

“Ireland will always be home to me, Meeno. But I’ve found a second home away from it, somewhere between a horse stable on Mr.Henderson’s estate and Boston. I can’t say there isn’t a part of me that would never leave Ireland, but I’ve come to realize that as much as I miss Ireland, I’d miss you more.”

That returned the beaming smile to his handsome face. Biniamino leaned, his forehead pressed to hers for a long moment.

“Carino?”

“Hm.”

“When you come back from Ireland, I have a very important question I would like to ask you. One your grandfather and mother may inquire about during your trip. I will not ask you here. Not now. But soon, when we are home again.”

“If it is the question I think it to be, I look forward to it.”

“I asked your mother and grandfather’s permission. I thought, especially with them being so far away, it was only right to ask them. To give them assurances of me.”

“Such as?”, she asked with a soft tone.

“That, if they were to give me their blessing and you were to agree, I would spend the rest of my life putting your first. That you do not need anyone to take care of you, but that I would always be willing to do it. I promised them that I would always be honest with you, since I know how you hate to be lied to. And, that if you were to agree, I would never make you regret it. You would be treasured and always have me to lean on. Your mother warned me not to let you walk all over me, or as she put it to walk up one side of me and then march back down the other.”

Margaret laughed as she moved to lean her forehead against the center of Biniamino’s chest. That was something her ma had warned potential suitors of since the first one showed up to come court Margaret when she was 17.

“I do not think she needs to worry about that with you, Meeno. You have Isabella in your corner, and you’ve never had a problem standing up to me, even when I was quite angry.”

“You are a fearsome one when you’re angry.”

“I suppose now I have an added incentive to return to Boston.”

He kissed her forehead.

“I certainly hope so, carino.”

“I’ll always come back to you, leannon. You’ve my word on it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good.”

She squeezed him tightly, letting out a long breath.

“I had feared, when Poirot came out to face us all, that he had solved it or given up and that you or, perhaps and, Dr.Arbuthnot would be taken away. A man of his color must fear the bigotry just as someone named Marquez. I know Mary feared the same.”

He stood back, holding her shoulders and looking directly into her green eyes.

“He did solve it, and neither Dr.Arbuthnot nor myself, have anything to fear from the authorities. We are safe, mi carino.”

“Yes, we are.”

He smiled, then looked over back into their shared room.

“Would you like the bed, and I will take the sofa?”

Margaret reached, tugging him by his hand.

“I trust you to be a gentleman, even if we share that large bed, Biniamino. Or else I shall tell your sister how naughty you are when alone with me.”, she added with a wink.

“That is a dirty move, darling.”

She grinned.

“Yes, but you love that I’m not afraid to play dirty.”

He returned her smile.

“I love everything about you, carino, even your willingness to play dirty.”

She nodded once, still smiling as she headed to the lavatory, leaving him at the door while she changed. Biniamino moved to the edge of the bed, quickly changing out of his suit, shirt, socks with guarders, and such into his sleep suit, leaving his feet bare as he padded over to the small fireplace. He added a couple logs and stoked the fire a bit, warming the room a little more. He would likely need to get up again to keep it going through the night but it would stay warm for a long while before that.

Just as he turned away from the fire, Margaret stepped out. Having stayed at her house in the past year, he knew a thing or two about her preferred nighttime attire. He still found himself smiling like a schoolboy with a crush when she stepped out of the lavatory with her hair in a simple braid over one shoulder, her black men’s sleepsuit with a pale pinstripe, and her light touch of makeup removed to reveal her natural pale face and dark lips.

“You’re turn, leannon.”

“Thanks.”, he said as he passed her.

All he needed to do was give himself a quick shave. When he had been staying with her, and when she had visited, he liked to shave at night so that he did not have half a beard in the morning when he greeted her with a quick kiss. He had no desire to leave a rough, red patch on her cheek from the coarse hair on his chin.

When Biniamino returned a moment later, Margaret had turned down the bed and was waiting on the side nearer to the bathroom and further from both the fire and the door. He also noticed she had left the curtains wide and turned out all the lights, leaving the room in just the pale orange light from the fire and the softer lights up from the city.

“I hope you don’t mind, I get warm in my sleep and so I always slept as far from the heaters or fireplaces as possible.”

He nodded, just glad to be between her and the door. As children, he and Isabella had shared a room and he kept his bed between her and the door of their room.

“I was worried it would not be warm enough, since I did not attend the freshly lit fire when we arrived in the room.”

He was stalling. Margaret may have invited him to spend the night with her, sharing a bed, yet Biniamino kept hearing his sister’s warning voice in his ear. Reminding him that both he and Margaret were a bit raw and not in a place to be making big decisions.

“Meeno?”

He looked up at Margaret, finding she had a slightly amused expression as she sat up in the bed.

“Come to bed. We are both too tired for anything like patty-fingers.”

He did not need to be asked again. Biniamino moved around the bed, sliding in beside Margaret. They both laid back, getting comfortable under the blankets. Margaret moved, curling against Biniamino’s side, one hand over his upper arm, her nose almost against his shoulder as her head rested on the edge of her pillow.

“Oiche mhaith mo ghra.”

“Buenas noches mi amor.”

She kissed his shoulder and he bent, curling over to kiss her forehead before laying back on the pillow. Within a few breaths, Margaret was sound asleep. Biniamino watched her as her face relaxed and her breathing evened out. He smiled, thinking of the days after they had wed. Mornings where her face would be the first he saw, sleeping beside her every night, sharing meals and late night talks, watching his nieces and nephew grow up, seeing her horses winning every event they went to. It was going to be a great adventure and he could hardly wait to get started.

“Te amo.”, he whispered before allowing himself to slip off to sleep.

“Ta gra agam duit.”, he heard her sleepily slur.


End file.
